Doublemint Gum
by Tempest Break
Summary: **Noncanon as of DH.** Fred and George Weasley. One could say they look alike, no? Hard to tell apart? That's exactly Fred's point when he asks George to woo a girl for him... but Hermione Granger may be a challenge. F/Hr/Ge, H/G.
1. Original

Doublemint Gum

By Tempest Break

Disclaimer: I don't own _Harry Potter_. Nor do I own Hermione or Fred or even George! They all are property of the lovely and talented (not to mention multi-millionairess) J.K. Rowling.

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**Chapter One: Original**

"George! George, could you come down here a minute?" called George Weasley's elder brother Fred—elder by only two minutes, George would have you know—from the bottom of the staircase.

George sighed and looked about the bedroom he and Fred shared. Clothing was strewn everywhere; a huge suitcase lay open on the bed, unfolded clothes stuffed into it; and George couldn't even remember what color the carpeting was. He nudged at a pair of crumpled slacks and a lone sock, and the answer was revealed to him: They had hardwood floors.

"Fred, I'm a bit busy at the moment," George shouted back.

"I'm hurt!" yelled Fred. "You won't answer the plea of your poor twin brother, who's being noble and letting _you_ go home and have all the fun this summer while _he_ stays and watches the shop?"

George rolled his eyes, but he waded his way through discarded clothing items and got to the door. He had to clear a bit of space away so the door could swing open, just enough so that he could squeeze through… Then he quickly slammed the door behind him and followed his twin brother's piteous noises. He slid down the banister (how many times had Madam Paola told them not to do just that?), leapt off before he hit the wobbly wooden knob at the bottom, and landed, coming face to face with a mirror.

_Or, no, wait. That's only Fred,_ George thought to himself. _I'm much better looking._

In reality, there was little with which to tell the two nineteen-year-old twins apart. They both had flaming red hair, mischievous blue eyes, and freckles on their long noses. The only way to tell the two apart—and this was what Molly Weasley herself used whenever she was uncertain—was that Fred had a rather large freckle just under his left earlobe and George did not. Excepting that one freckle, they were practically the same person.

"Ah, there you are," said Fred happily. "Just needed you to help me set up this display for Message-Disguising ink. Could you get a box of regular quills?"

"You're a wizard, aren't you? You could do it yourself," George pointed out, but he grabbed a box of quills and followed Fred into the main room of their joke shop.

"I don't know why you're so eager to pack," answered Fred over his shoulder. "You're not even leaving 'til tomorrow, and there's plenty to do until then."

Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes had far surpassed even his and Fred's high expectations. They were one of the most successful shops in Diagon Alley (not _quite_ as hard to do, now that several of them had been closed, but still no easy feat), and even before store hours, there were throngs of shoppers with noses pressed up against the glass of the window display.

Upon seeing Fred and George lugging the boxes into the main room, a younger chap with sandy blond hair rapped on the pane for them to open the shop, but Fred completely ignored him, shaking his head to his brother. "What do they expect us to do?" he muttered, taking out a few quills from the box George held and setting them into aesthetically pleasing patterns. "We're not going to open early just because they knocked on the window."

"Oh, come on, Fred," George chided. "I seem to remember a certain _someone_ wanting to get into Zonko's at what? Six-thirty? And in the snow, too."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, brother dearest," Fred answered airily, setting out some parchment for test runs for the quills. When the boy tapped on the glass again, Fred rolled his eyes. "Come now," he said under his breath. "The sign says ten to six, and it's not written with Message-Disguiser!" He finished arranging the display and hurried out of the main chamber.

"Need any more help?" inquired George as he easily carried the now-empty boxes into the back room.

"Yes, actually," said Fred, climbing to the top of their yellow ladder and standing precariously on the flap that said, "DO NOT STEP HERE." George watched in amusement as Fred wobbled a bit before withdrawing a long box of trick wands from the top shelf. "Old standby," he said to George, jumping down from the ladder. "We're running low, though. Just noticed while we were out there. Could you put twenty or so of these out there, please?"

"Will do," said George, taking the box from his brother and turning back toward the main room.

"Oh, and George?"

"Yes, cupcake?"

"Don't let anyone in until ten, understand?"

"Loud and clear." George hefted the box of trick wands onto his shoulder and carried it out into the main room. There was another knock from the door, and George looked exasperatedly toward it—and found, to his surprise, four familiar faces.

He grinned, set down the box of trick wands, and approached the door, standing inches away from the delighted faces of his two younger siblings and their friends. He waved with a cheery grin.

The group at the door each had claimed a small window pane just large enough to fit a face. The pane in the upper left corner was a freckled, long-nosed face with a finger up against the glass—the owner of this face had tapped on the door. To that face's right was one with messy black hair and a rather famous scar on its forehead, which drew more than a few stares from the surrounding crowd. Below that face was one similar to the first: red hair framing the freckled cheeks. And the last face, in the bottom left, was not pressed up against the pane so closely, but rather idly appraising the store with intelligent brown eyes.

"Hallo!" said Ronald Weasley, who had grown at least another inch since George had last seen him.

"Which one's that?" asked Harry Potter in a hushed tone, although George could still hear him through the thin pane of the glass.

"Dunno," answered Ron.

"It's _George_," said Ginny Weasley with a look at her older brother that said plainly, _You really ought to know these things by now!_

George continued waving to them through the pane with the wide smile on his face, listening to their conversation. The last member of the group—the brilliant, not-so-bushy-haired Hermione Granger—gave George a funny look, almost inquiring as to what the hell he was doing, waving like that.

Ron shrugged at his sister. "Whoever it is, he ought to let us in. Open up, George," he shouted through the door.

George only continued waving to them.

"_George_." Ron tapped on the glass in annoyance. "C'mon, open the doors."

The twin in question put his hand to his ear and exaggeratedly leaned in toward the door. He made a motion with his other hand to encourage Ron to repeat what he'd said.

"_Open – the – door_," said Ron slowly and distinctly.

George stood straight again, shrugged, and mouthed, _"I can't hear you,"_ several times while wildly gesturing to his ears.

Ron groaned and knocked even more loudly. "George! _Come – on_. Open the door!"

George feigned realization. _"Oh, you want me to…?"_ he mouthed, pointing at the door handle questioningly. Ron nodded condescendingly, as though his older brother were a two-year-old. George approached the door handle, then abruptly grabbed the sign in the window, held it before Ron's long nose, and shouted through the door: "TEN TO SIX, RONALD! TEN TO SIX!" He threw the sign back into its slot violently, waved again, and went to set out the trick wands again.

He could hear his brother throwing curses at his back and Harry, Hermione, and Ginny trying to pacify him, but George only smirked. It was altogether too easy to get a rise out of dear Ronald; he and Fred had been doing it for seventeen years.

As George was setting out the fake wands, Fred came out of the back room with another box labeled in thick black marker, "S. SNACKBOXES." The elder twin passed George on the way to the Skiving Snackbox display. "What was all that noise?" he asked.

"Oh, dear Ron has brought Harry, Ginny, and Hermione to the store today," replied George, counting out twenty trick wands. "Unfortunately, our darling brother has yet to learn to tell time, and as such wasn't aware that we open the doors at ten."

"Ah, what a shame," tutted Fred, looking toward the doors and seeing Ron's reddened face. "You'd think Mum would have taught him better than that."

"You really would," agreed George, looking to the large clock on the wall, which was spelled to turn rainbow colors and spew illusory gold pieces on the hour, and saw that in ten minutes, they would have to allow the by now giant throng of shoppers into the store. He quickly replaced the box of trick wands and went out to the main room to do a quick recheck that everything was in place. He surveyed the pots of ink by the Smart-Answer quills, the various invisibility-inducing clothing items, and the fireworks display. Finally, he and Fred positioned themselves on either side of the front door.

"Ready, Mr. Weasley?" inquired Fred.

"Ready, Mr. Weasley," confirmed George.

Both of them grinned and, as the clock on the wall was spurting holographic gold pieces, they slowly opened the doors to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes and greeted the massive horde of witches and wizards that streamed into the store.

"We hope you enjoy your shopping experience," Fred said with dignity.

"Have an absolutely spiffing day at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes," George said with just as much aplomb.

"Just what have you two ingested?" demanded an amused Ginny, standing in front of Fred with an accusatory look.

"Whatever do you mean, Ginevra?" asked Fred, eyebrows raised slightly. Then suddenly a huge grin split his face, and he and George both swept the four of them into the main part of the shop.

"So, what brings you here?" George asked of Ron and Harry as Fred demonstrated to Hermione and Ginny the Message-Disguising ink.

"Mum wanted us to check and make sure you were coming after all," said Ron, examining one of the fake wands George had put out a few minutes ago. "You look really busy."

"Oh, yes," said George dramatically. "_Loads_ of work to do _every_ night. Don't know how we manage, do you, Fred?"

The other twin shook his head and clutched a hand to his heart. "Every day is a battle, my friends! _You, there!_" he shouted to the same sandy-haired boy, who seemed to be trying to open a Skiving Snackbox without paying first. "Put it down, or the curse for shoplifting'll _really_ have you out of commission."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What exactly happens to shoplifters?" she asked.

"Chop off their hands," replied Fred easily. "Medieval, yes, but effective." Hermione gaped. The sandy-haired boy quickly replaced the snackbox. "Need any help?" Fred glided off to assist a young girl inspecting the Animal Crackers—guaranteed to turn you into the animal on the cookie or your money back!—leaving George with an open-mouthed group.

"He was joking," said Ron confidently. "…Wasn't he?"

"Why don't you test it, Ron?" snickered Ginny.

"Why don't _you_?" Ron glared at his younger sister. George watched in amusement as Harry and Hermione very badly disguised rolling their eyes.

"We should probably get going," said Harry, stepping between the two Weasleys. "Fred and George are obviously very busy, and we've set out to do what your mum told us, haven't we?" He looked at George pleadingly.

"Oh, yes, good show," said George. "Definitely, I'll be up to the Burrow on the morrow."

Harry thanked him silently, and shouting goodbyes over their shoulders, he and Hermione herded the younger Weasleys out of the store.

- - - - -

George leapt on top of his suitcase, which was bulging—not because he had so many clothes, but because he hadn't been bothered to fold them neatly—and squished the contents of his luggage down into a shape that would allow him to zip up the suitcase. It was dark outside the window of their flat above the store, and George was hastily packing for his Apparition to the Burrow on the following day.

Suddenly Fred burst into their bedroom and cried, "Oh, she's so beautiful!" With that, he threw himself dramatically onto his own, unmade bed.

George raised an eyebrow at his twin, whose face was buried in his pillow. "All right, Fred," he said finally. "You've intrigued me. _Who's_ beautiful?"

Fred flipped onto his back and sighed, "Hermione."

_"Hermione?"_ repeated George, incredulous. "Have you gone mad?"

"Not more so than usual," replied Fred. "Didn't you get a look at her today, George? She's got curves in all the right places. Her hair's gone all curly instead of bushy. And her eyes! Her eyes are like deep, fathomless pools of really, really exquisite brown… _stuff_."

"Delicious," George remarked.

"I'm _serious_, George," insisted Fred. "As serious as I can be. And I _had_ to be nice and let you go to the Burrow while I stay here and work." He sighed piteously.

George rolled his eyes. "I'm _not_ letting you go, Fred. This was your repayment to me for when you wanted to go off with Angelina to France over Christmas vacation, don't you remember? You promised you'd let me have a vacation at the Burrow for every day you spent in France, probably shagging Angelina."

A smile curled around Fred's lips. "Ah, yes. I _do_ remember," he said, grinning.

George nodded and went back to zipping his suitcase. He looked over at Fred, who seemed to be staring at the ceiling. _Probably "remembering," _he thought, grimacing.

Suddenly Fred sat bolt upright in his bed. "I've got it!" he exclaimed.

"Got _what_?" asked George suspiciously. Fred was looking at him with a maniacal glint in his eye that told George he was an integral part of a plan he probably didn't want to be a part of.

"George, one could say that you and I look rather similar to each other, couldn't one?"

"Yes, if one didn't know the meaning of the words 'identical twins'," George answered warily.

"And one could also conclude that it would be rather difficult to tell us apart, wouldn't you say?"

"One is not liking where this is going…"

"But the other is loving it." Fred grinned; George groaned and put his face in his hands. "I know you don't fully appreciate what a delight this plan will be, but soon you will. You _will_! Because—think of it! You'll get to woo a girl, who will undoubtedly fall for it, given our good looks, and at the end of two snog-filled weeks, you won't have to be committed! Think of it! _Think of it!_"

"I am thinking of it, and I still don't like it."

"Oh, please, George," Fred begged, coming to his knees before George, who was still seated on top of his suitcase. "It won't be for that long, I promise."

George twisted his face in to a grimace of apprehension. "I really don't think—"

"Don't you remember when I helped you with Alicia Spinnet in fourth year? _Don't you remember? _I put my life on the line, with that basilisk gallivanting all over the castle!"

"This is hardly the same—"

"George, please," said Fred seriously, looking earnestly into his twin's eyes. "I'm begging of you, on my _knees_."

George stared at Fred for several long seconds before sighing in defeat. "Fine," he groaned. "I'll do it."

- - - - - - - - -

**Tempest:** Well, I'm back, and sooner than I'd expected, too. I have _completely_ mapped out this story, and as such I don't think it will take nearly as long to finish as CoH did. Therefore, I decided to start it as soon as possible. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter and noted the subtle differences in Fred and George's personalities. Well, I think I'll scurry off to bed, but I'll see you later. And, of course, review, review, review!


	2. Artificially Flavored

**Doublemint Gum**

By Tempest Break

Disclaimer: Don't own anything except the plot.

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**Chapter Two: Artificially Flavored**

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead. It's a bee-yoo-tee-ful day."

George groaned and turned away from his twin's obnoxiously awake voice, smothering his face in his pillow. There was no way he was waking up to a "bee-yoo-tee-ful" day. That wasn't even a word.

"Aww, does Georgie Porgie want to sleep in? How cute," cooed Fred. "I guess I'll just join him, then." And with that, he leapt on George, crushing him beneath his weight.

"GUH!" George grunted. "Gerroff me, Fred!" He tried to shove his brother off the bed, but Fred had firmly attached himself to George.

"It's a great day for up, George!" exclaimed Fred in George's ear. "I've already sent off an owl to Mum telling her that 'Fred' will be joining her instead of George. It's time for some last-minute preparations before you take off for your voyage into the world of me!"

"Ugh, _must_ they be 'last-minute'?" asked George, still pinned uncomfortably beneath Fred. "It's not like I'll be missing the train or anything. I'm only Apparating."

"Ah, but dear brother," said Fred, "you'll need as much time as you possibly can get to woo the fair Hermione."

George sighed. "Fine. I'll get up. Just get _off_ me." He finally managed to push Fred off and sat up in bed, rubbing his bleary blue eyes. Sunlight streamed into the twins' messy room through the window, forcing one of George's sleep-filled eyes shut. He groaned once again, thinking to himself that his brother had gone absolutely mental. It was a Sunday—the only day that they didn't work—and on Sundays they usually slept in at least until noon.

"Now then," said Fred, quite businesslike now, which George noted with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "We're going to have a short run-through of the plan, just to cement it in your brain, all right, George?"

"All right," George said hesitantly, rubbing his temples, where a headache was already forming. Normally evil plans excited him just as much as they did Fred, but this one seemed rather iffy to him.

"Right!" Fred smacked his wand into the palm of his hand loudly, making George jump a little. "I call it 'The Seducing of the Bookworm by the Second Twin in the Absence of the First.' In light of the plan's ridiculously long title, it has been renamed the Grand Master Plan—G.M.P. for short." He looked at George sharply. "Are you getting all this, George?"

"I'm taking mental notes," answered the twin in question, leaning his head back against the headboard and closing his eyes. He listened to Fred pace up and down the room.

"First order of business will be to make you appear as similar to me as possible," began Fred. "Of course, the length of this step has been greatly reduced by our being born identical twins, and it mostly consists of me drawing a freckle on the left side of your neck."

George cracked an eye open and looked at Fred apprehensively. "I dislike the idea of you getting anywhere near my neck, regardless the side."

"I assure you, your welfare is my highest priority right now," answered Fred with what he assumed to be a reassuring smile. To George, it looked more like he was preparing to rip out his jugular.

"Secondly," continued Fred, resuming his rather limited pacing about the messy room, "I have taken the liberty of writing up some phrases that are practically guaranteed to succeed in winning the sweet Hermione. I call them 'Swoon-worthy Sayings,' and they're written on a rolled-up bit of parchment, which I have stuck into the front pocket of your suitcase along with your socks and toiletries. I hope you will use them to their full potential, as they absolutely cannot fail. Also, you'd forgotten your deodorant. I put some in for you."

"Thanks."

"No problem." Fred continued: "Lastly—this is the beauty of the G.M.P., you see: it's only three steps long—you will use your charms to seduce the bookworm in my absence (as the full title says) and have her mostly if not completely keen on me when I arrive in two weeks, at which time I'll take her off your hands and you shall be free to do whatever you choose, knowing that you have succeeded in your quest. The end!" Upon the conclusion of his speech, Fred shot his arm straight up into the air, his wand spurting red and gold sparks and playing really triumphant music.

George sighed at his brother, whose eyes were closed as he imagined the glory of his plan. "Fine," George said finally. "Let's get to work on this Grand Master Plan."

The triumphant music stopped as Fred opened his eyes and lowered his wand. He grinned. "All right," he said happily. "Get out of bed and come to the bathroom. I've got some makeup pencil stuff left over from our Halloween Extravaganza."

George followed his nearly skipping brother into the adjoining bathroom, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Fred seized a brown eyeliner pencil from the counter and instructed George to tilt his head up so Fred could access his neck easily. He did so apprehensively.

After a second or two, Fred stepped back, scrutinizing his handiwork and comparing it in the mirror to his own authentic freckle. "Well, I smudged it a little," he told George, "so I think it's a bit lopsided. I hope Mum doesn't think it's cancerous or anything."

George examined the penciled-on freckle in the mirror. It was roughly the same size as the one on Fred's neck, but a bit of it was smudged up, making it look rather like the warnings about melanoma at dermatology clinics.

"Oh, well," said Fred eventually, shrugging. "I'm sure no one will get a very close look at it—except maybe Hermione!" He laughed gleefully to himself and glided back into the bedroom. George quickly spelled the freckle to stay on his neck until further notice and then followed his brother.

As soon as he reentered the bedroom, George noticed that Fred was holding his suitcase in his hands. He frowned slightly at Fred in confusion. "Are you actually kicking me out?" he asked.

Fred smiled. "Not kicking you out, dear brother," he replied. "My giving you this suitcase is simply a metaphor for my giving you the initiative to go out and win the affections of Hermione Granger. You've obviously lost your knack for symbolism." He held out the suitcase to George.

George sighed and took his suitcase from his grinning brother. Fred followed him out of the room and downstairs, holding the door open for George as he exited the quiet shop. Diagon Alley was not nearly as crowded on Sunday morning as it had been yesterday, with only the occasional shopper strolling the cobblestone streets.

George turned back to Fred. "I hope you realize that you'll owe me for this," he said seriously. "I'm doing this because you're my brother and that supposedly means something, but I expect something in return."

Fred nodded. "I'll think of something," he answered.

"All right," said George. "Then I'll see you in two weeks."

"Righto," answered Fred, inclining his head to his brother. "Buhbye."

"Buhbye, then," returned George. And with that, he was gone.

- - - - -

With a sharp _CRACK!_ George Apparated onto the dirt path leading up to the Burrow. The quaint little cottage seemed even more welcoming than it had in summers past, maybe as a result of the nationwide panic that had taken hold of England's wizarding population, or maybe because of the burden of managing the store. Whatever the reason, George felt a hundred times better reaching for the rusted knob of the front door of the Burrow.

He entered the familiar house and was immediately drawn into a tight hug by his mother, Molly Weasley.

"Oh, Fred!" she cried, stepping back. "It's _so_ good to see you again. I got your owl just an hour ago. I can't believe George decided to stay at the very last minute like that. He's not ill, is he?"

"No, but he _has_ got a headache," George replied dryly. "Where are Ron and Ginny and the rest?"

"They've gone up to the clearing to play a bit of Quidditch," replied Molly, bustling back into the kitchen. "I expect they'll be back soon. They've probably heard you arrive."

"All right. I'll just take this up to the room, then," said George, indicating his suitcase.

"Come back down, Fred," called Molly as George started lugging his bag up the creaky wooden staircase. "I'd like to talk to you a bit before everyone else comes back."

George didn't reply, preferring not to have to answer to "Fred". He turned right when he reached the hallway and went into the first door on his left: the twins' room. There were two beds; the one on the left was Fred's, with blue sheets, and the one on the right was his, with green. He almost put his suitcase down on his bed before he stopped himself and put it on Fred's instead. He was hating this charade already.

Speaking of the charade… George unzipped the front pocket of his suitcase and found the rolled-up parchment Fred had told him about. He unfurled it and read:

_Swoon-worthy Sayings_

_Brought to you by Fred Weasley_

As George read over the Sayings, he found that Fred was not nearly as suave as he'd thought. Most of the phrases he'd written were either backhanded compliments or straight-out insults. Some had ill-disguised innuendos. George laughed out loud at one that read: _(casually) "So… you're a girl, right?"_

"Have you gone mental, Ginny?"

"_No_, Ron. Have _you_ gone _deaf_?"

George looked up from the parchment and craned his neck to see out the window of his and Fred's room. Down below, the four younger friends were trekking through the garden, which was just under the twins' window. The two redheads were arguing, as always. This seemed to be a new trend, what with all the other Weasley children out of the house.

"I heard a crack, I'm sure of it," continued Ginny, stepping carefully around some shriveled carrots and pumpkins.

"I doubt he'd be here this early," Ron said skeptically, not even bothering to avoid the inedible vegetables. "What time is it? Eleven? When the twins were still living here, they wouldn't get up until after noon."

George smashed his nose against the window, pressing his palms against the glass pane. "Hello-o-o!" he called, his voice a high falsetto.

Ginny's head jerked up toward the window, and she waved. "You see? I told you he was here," she said smugly to Ron.

"Quiet, you," muttered Ron in return as he disappeared around the side of the house.

"We'll be around in a tick," Ginny shouted up to George as she, Harry, and Hermione followed Ron out of sight.

George was about to leave the room when he remembered the Sayings. He returned to the bed, rolled up the parchment, and replaced it in his suitcase for later amusement. Then he left the room, shutting the door behind him. As he made his way down the rickety staircase, he came into view of Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione, who were seated in the living room.

"Hullo, George!" Ginny greeted him cheerfully. George opened his mouth to correct her, but Ron beat him to the chase

"It's _Fred_," Ron told her smugly. "And you always say how you know which one's which."

"The only reason _you_ know, Ron, is because your mum told us while Ginny was in the loo," Hermione said from her spot on the beat-up couch. Some of the stuffing was coming out of the arm she leant on.

Ron colored as George sat down next to Hermione. "Aw, ickle Won's turned all wed!" George cooed lovingly, reaching out and pinching one of Ron's freckled cheeks.

"Shove it, Fred," grumbled Ron, heaving George off him and sitting back in his armchair to sulk. Harry, who was in the wicker chair next to him, sighed in exasperation.

"Your _mom_ shoved it last night!" exclaimed George. "Ohhh." He punched his fist into the air in mock victory.

Ron looked at him in confusion. "She's your mum, too…"

"I know it hurts very deeply, Ronald," said George comfortingly. "Any 'your mum' joke cuts straight to the core of the person. I'm almost sorry I said it to you now, knowing how fragile you are. Can you ever forgive me?"

Ron decided to ignore his brother and look out the window instead.

"Well, now that we're done insulting each other's mothers," said Ginny, standing up. "What do you say we have a romp in the garden?"

"Ooh, yes," said George enthusiastically. "I'm feeling just ever so rompy right now." He clapped his hands gleefully.

Ginny glared at him a bit before laughing. "Come on, then. Let's go." She gestured for everyone to follow her. George leapt up from the couch and skipped after Ginny, Ron, and Harry before noticing that something was missing. Or rather, someone.

"Hermione?" he asked, popping his head back into the living room. "Aren't you coming?"

The brown-haired girl looked at him and shook her head. "I don't think so," she answered. "I might just stay in and catch up on some reading."

"Hahaha, you're thooo funny, Hermione," George laughed, grabbing her arm and hoisting her up. "Sorry to inform you, though: Only F—George and I are the jokesters around here. If you want to take his place for the next two weeks, you'll have to fill out a _load_ of paperwork, which will take a while to process… In short, laughing time is over. Now we play."

"Fred, what are you—? AHH!" Hermione shrieked as George hauled her over his shoulder and carried her out of the house. She continued to insist that George put her down, but he noticed that amidst her pleas for freedom, she was laughing.

- - - - - - - - -

**Tempest:** Well, I hate this chapter. That's all I have to say about it.

TO PEOPLE:

**Writerdude3000:** "Yes, cupcake?" was my favorite line, too.

**WhiteKingdom:** Just as I thought! Everyone likes Fred better. I think of George as the unsung Weasley twin, always shunted into the background. Fred's name is always mentioned first, and he's given more stuff to do, which makes me really, really sad. So I guess I root for the underdog.

**Some Random Reviewer:** I clicked on your profile page and read it the other day. I had no idea you loved Colleen so much. I was infinitely flattered. Thank you for loving my OC that much. I hope you like this story, too, even though this chapter really, really sucked. Also, regarding the length of the story, it's going to be about eleven chapters, only a third of what CoH was.

**Close2MiiHeart:** Well, you may be in for a disappointment… But this just further proves my point. Everyone likes Fred better. It makes me unspeakably sad. Poor George.

**Randomisation, chocolatefroggie19, lilgreendesire, cantatedomino, irule800, Kichou, animerocksjapanrocks, Alanna, RainbowKneeHighSox,** **fujutsu, **and **jsas:** Thanks for taking the time to review the last chapter. I hope you review this one, too!

Well, I'll see you next time. Review, review, review!


	3. Spearmint

**Doublemint Gum**

By Tempest Break

Disclaimer: Still don't own it.

- - - - - - - - -

**Chapter Three: Spearmint**

George woke up the following morning earlier than he'd expected, which was probably a byproduct of his going to bed relatively early. Since Fred hadn't been there, he hadn't had a reason to stay up discussing or testing new merchandise. The previous day's romp had also wearied him a bit, having taken a violent turn, with the five of them splitting into two teams and trying to completely soak each other with the squirt guns Mr. Weasley had stored in his Muggle shed.

The red-haired twin forced himself to roll out of bed. Unfortunately, his legs were not as cooperative as the rest of his body and didn't get into place quickly enough. He fell to the floor with a resounding _thump!_

Immediately there was a shout from downstairs (the kitchen was just beneath his and Fred's room). "All right up there?" called Mrs. Weasley's voice, half worried, half warning. She couldn't very well do anything about the twins' experiments now that they'd made a somewhat respectable business out of it, but she still did not approve of any suspicious noises coming from their room.

"Perfectly fine," replied George through the floor. "Just giving the ol' floor an appreciative hug for all its hard work over the years."

He heard below the tittering of laughter—the other young inhabitants must already be up. At least Ginny was, as he distinctly heard her giggling wetly through her morning cereal.

"Well, come down, Fred," said Mrs. Weasley in an obviously exasperated voice. "I'm sure the _floor_ doesn't need that much encouragement to continue in its duty."

With a _crack_, George Apparated into the kitchen directly behind Ron, startling him into dropping his fork onto the kitchen floor. "Allow me, Ronald," said George, gallantly bending down to retrieve Ron's stray silverware. "Here you are, sir."

"Thanks," said Ron, taking the fork from his brother with a grin.

"What was all that about hugging the floor, Fred?" inquired Ginny as George slid into a seat next to her.

"Oh, I've just realized what a lousy life it must have," he replied nonchalantly. "I mean, everyone walks all over it."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but everyone at the table laughed a bit at George's rather feeble joke.

"Dreadfully sorry," he said as Mrs. Weasley put a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs in front of him. "That wasn't at all up to standards. It's early morning."

As the five of them enjoyed their breakfast, George noticed with increasing surprise and amusement that Ginny and Harry, who were sitting across from each other, kept shooting one another rather ridiculous looks when each thought the other wasn't looking. George was beginning to put a bit of dialogue to what he fancied they were thinking.

Ginny leaned over her cereal bowl and peered through her fringe at Harry. _Look coy, Ginny_, George imagined she was thinking. _Maybe he'll see my hair covering my face and think of it as a wedding veil. A red wedding veil of love!_

_My word!_ said George's mind-Harry in an absurdly masculine voice. _I _do_ believe that rather fetching girl is looking my way. Quick, look fantastic. Yes… there I go…. Who could resist me with this fabulous bit of egg on my chin?_

George sniggered into his breakfast plate, causing Hermione to look at him in alarm. "Are you all right, Fred?"

"Yes, marvelous," he replied, looking up at her and flashing a magical "twin grin". "And you?"

Hermione gave him a confused look—probably confused at the new feelings fluttering within her at the sight of the absolutely irresistible smile, George thought to himself. Fred would be proud. "Fine…" she said and returned to pushing bits of egg around on her nearly empty plate.

George noted that Mrs. Weasley was rather furtively darting glances up at the magical clock on the wall with an arm for each member of the Weasley family. He found to his great relief that even though he and Fred had switched, both of theirs said the same thing: "Up to No Good."

"What's wrong, Mum?" asked Ron, apparently noticing Mrs. Weasley's worry just as George had.

Mrs. Weasley started a bit and looked at her youngest son. "Oh, it's nothing, dear," she said dismissively, but she soon bustled out of the kitchen, muttering some unconvincing excuse for leaving.

All five of the breakfasters exchanged suspicious glances, but seemed to agree not to comment. George instead decided to bring up the obvious looks Harry and Ginny had been giving each other moments earlier. _I'd better make it broader, though, so as not to single them out, _he thought to himself. _The poor things are embarrassed _so _easily_.

"So," he began conversationally, "I've been noticing lately that _some_ people—not naming any names, now—but _some_ people have been looking at each other rather obviously. It may be behind veil-like hair, or under the guise of having a fantastic piece of egg on one's chin, but still it's rather conspicuous, and I was just wondering what this may mean."

Ron and Hermione gaped at George in astonished confusion while Harry and Ginny's faces flushed a bit red.

"What on _earth_ are you on about, Fred?" asked Hermione, finally finding her voice.

"I was just inquiring as to what it might mean when two people indiscreetly stare at each other from across a table," replied George innocently.

"It probably means they're keen on each other," said Ron. "You see, Fred, when a man and a woman love each other _very much_…"

"Oh, please, Ronald," George interrupted. "George and I _gave_ you that talk when you were a wee lad." He smirked. "Although I'm sure you know all of it firsthand, after your mad affair with that girl this past year. Now what was her name…? Violet? Light-shade-of-purple?"

"I think you mean _Lavender_," Hermione said sourly as Ron's ears colored bright red.

George nodded. "That was it," he said, looking at Ron curiously. "Word reached us of your rather sordid affair with Miss Lavender. What happened with that, Ronald? I hope you remembered the Contraceptive Charm we've taught you…"

Ron blanched. "Absolutely _not_, Fred!" he said indignantly. "I _never_…"

"Oh, how delightful," said George pleasantly. "More little Ronnies running about, then?"

"Hardly," Ron said grimly, narrowing his eyes at no one in particular.

"She was really awful," Ginny put in, seeming to have recovered from her previous embarrassment to take part in Ron's. "She called him _Won-Won_."

Ron stared at Ginny, appalled, as George burst into laughter. "Why would you tell _him_, of all people, Ginny?" he demanded. The girl in question only shrugged apologetically.

"Oh, Won-Won," said George condolingly. "It's quite all right. I realize how scarring that must have been to you." Ron glared at him; George smiled back. "So I take it you dumped the poor girl?"

Hermione shook her head. "He couldn't get up the nerve to," she told George. "So he was simply _awful_ to her until _she_ dumped _him_."

"You were happy about it at the time," Ron muttered under his breath, but Hermione still blushed.

"Keen on anyone else, then, Ron?" inquired George.

"Yes, _is_ there _anyone else_?" Ginny asked, leaning forward in her seat. George had a feeling this was a very pointed question, although he wasn't sure at whom it was pointed. Harry also seemed very interested. Hermione rather obviously didn't look at Ron.

"Nope, no one, not after _her_," Ron said with a noise of disgust.

Suddenly Hermione stood from the table. "I've finished," she announced, picking up her plate and taking it to the sink.

"Hermione…" Ginny began, but Hermione had already swept out of the kitchen. Almost immediately after she'd left, Ginny whirled on Ron. "What _are_ you thinking?" she demanded. "You've ruined it for yourself _again_."

"What do you mean?" asked Ron, still eating.

_"Hermione,"_ said Ginny, as though it were obvious.

George raised an eyebrow but decided to keep listening and not say anything. Unfortunately, Ron hadn't forgotten that "Fred" was there and nodded toward him to Ginny, who shut up.

"I'll just… er… you know," said George lamely, putting away his plate and leaving the kitchen. He would have liked to stay and listen to what was apparently going on between Ron and Hermione, but he'd also sensed a perfect time to swoop in and be the supportive hero to the girl around whom the infamous G.M.P. was centered.

He wandered out the backdoor and found Hermione sitting on the half-broken wooden bench that swung on two chains from a branch of the large tree at one end of the garden. She had a book with her, but it was sitting unopened on her lap as she absentmindedly watched a gnome running about under the hedges.

George came to sit next to her. Neither of them said anything for a minute, making George increasingly uncomfortable. Then he began conversationally, "So… how much can you bench?"

Hermione gave him an odd sideways look but did not respond. She kept watching the gnomes under the hedge.

"I guess my brother's a git, eh?" he prompted, hoping for a response. She let out a derisive but agreeing snort and so George continued, "Ginny's yelling at him in there. What exactly's been going on?"

_"Nothing,"_ said Hermione, scowling so bitterly that the gnome darted back underground. "Ron's just a great, big fool, is all."

"I reckon a dementor could've told you _that_," laughed George. Hermione chuckled a bit, too, albeit darkly. "What's wrong now? He blind to your beauty, Hermy?"

"Don't call me Hermy." But she was blushing, George noticed with an inwardly triumphant grin. "Fred" was working his magic.

"Right, then," he said. "'Mione okay? Oh, I forgot. You like as many syllables as possible. Herm-own-ninny, right?"

Hermione laughed a bit at George's poking fun at the famous Quidditch player's known affections for her. "Viktor and I've stopped seeing each other long ago," she told him.

"Why's that?"

She shrugged. "It just wasn't working," she said offhandedly. "He was so far away, and to tell the truth, I wasn't much interested in him in the first place."

"Couldn't have been the Quidditch," George mused. "You seem to like the muscular physique wrought by long hours on the pitch." He flipped imaginary hair and strutted his shoulders exaggeratedly.

"Oh yes, oh baby," she deadpanned, rolling her eyes.

George grinned as he leant back in the bench, swinging it idly. It creaked loudly but it was relatively safe, despite the broken wooden slats under and behind George and Hermione. They swung in silence for a few minutes before Hermione broke it:

"How's George?"

As usual, George was struck by confusion before he remembered that he as masquerading as his twin. "Oh, he's… good," he said. "Working hard, you know."

"I expect so. Why did you decide to come instead of him?"

"Oh, he's just such a _good_ bloke, George," he answered airily. "Really, really _great_ chap. He knew how much I wanted to come and so he let me. Quite nice of him, you know, good man."

"Yeah, you seem really close, the two of you," agreed Hermione.

"Yes, quite close," said George, nodding. "Sometimes it feels like _I'm_ George and _he's_ Fred." He grinned at this, a joke that only he understood.

Hermione looked at him. "That's a bit odd," she remarked. "I know you're twins, but you're different, aren't you? I mean, you're _you_. Right?"

George was about to reply when he was cut off by a call of: _"Hermione?"_

Both of them looked toward the direction of the voice. It had been Ginny, calling for her friend. The redheaded girl came around the side of the house and caught sight of George and Hermione sitting on the wooden swing.

"There you are. And Fred, too." She seemed surprised to find "Fred" sitting with Hermione. "I'm awfully sorry about Ron. He's just…"

"It's all right, Ginny," Hermione interrupted smoothly, apparently no longer bothered by Ron's obvious lack of tact. "I really could _not_ care less about Ron at the moment."

Ginny gave her an apprehensive look as George stood from the swing. "You don't have to leave, Fred," said Hermione after George had taken a few steps away from the girls.

"I thought you were going to discuss things I'm not allowed to hear," said George slowly, "so why am I leaving? You're right!" He sat down cross-legged at Ginny (who had taken George's seat) and Hermione's feet and looked up at them, bright-eyed and eager.

However, Ginny seemed to be indisposed to talk about whatever was going on with Ron in front of George, which he noted immediately. They sat in frozen silence for several moments before George finally stood up.

"Well, you've thoroughly bored me," he said to the girls. "Congratulations. I've gotten my trousers all dusty for nothing." To punctuate his point, he slapped the dirt off of his jeans. "I think I'll join Ronald and young Harry in the house. And Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

George raised his eyebrow at her saucily and said: "I'll see _you_ later."

- - - - - - - - -

**Tempest:** Well, I don't like the ending, but whatev… So for this A/N thing, I thought I'd start up a poll. I'd like everyone to say whom they like better in the Harry Potter books, Fred or George. I like George better, but you already knew that…

TO PEOPLE:

**LauraNotLora:** I've read the Lexicon essay, actually. Well, skimmed it. I was confused as to what its point was, although I guessed that it was to point out George's differences from Fred. It lacked a clear central idea and thesis, so I thought it was pretty hurting… Wow, that sounded really hoity-toity of me. Damn.

**Close2MiiHeart:** I think I get what you mean… I'm partial to George/Hermione only because of **aleximoon**'s story "Hermione's Summer," if you've read that. I read it a long time ago and it's been subtly influencing me ever since, I think… although I like Hermione with most people. 'Cept Harry… I'm a Harry/Ginny person.

**Maddi:** I don't think there was much fighting in this chapter. Not direct, anyway. Hermione just got a bit upset. Sigh… Oh, Hermione…

**Some Random Reviewer:** Oh, you'll see what happens. I've got it ALL planned out. Several twists along the way, I assure you.

**Chocolatefroggie19:** Maybe it's just that everyone _thinks_ everyone likes Fred better, so they like George, but everyone really likes George… That would be intense.

**Kichou, cantatedomino, lovely ravenclaw, Christy, musicalbballgirl, Hawaiian-Rachael, purplecrazy2291, **and **silly222:** Thanks for reviewing. I hope you do the same for this chapter! And respond to the poll: Fred or George?

REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!


	4. Bubblegum

**Doublemint Gum**

By Tempest Break

Disclaimer: Nope.

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**Chapter Four: Bubblegum**

Two days passed in blissful and uneventful laziness. George expended a minimal amount of energy carrying out the G.M.P. and focused instead on enjoying himself as much as he could at the Burrow. He and Hermione had, yes, become a bit closer, but he hardly counted it as romantic. Besides, his keen powers of perception had hinted to him that she was interested in his younger brother Ronald, even though the two of them had barely spoken to each other since that day at breakfast except to ask for the passing of dinner-table condiments and such.

So George discounted his brother's "Grand Master Plan" from the Realm of Possibly Working At All and in fact had practically forgotten about it, when he was jolted from a catnap by an insistent tapping at his window.

He groggily rolled over and found that the large (and rather expensive) eagle owl that they had bought a year before was hovering outside the twins' bedroom window with a letter tied to its foot. George quickly hoisted up the window and let the owl into the room to perch on one of the towering stacks of boxes stored there.

"Something from Fred?" he inquired of the owl, which held out its leg so George could untie the letter. He stroked behind the owl idly as he read the letter written in his brother's familiar, scratchy handwriting.

_Dearest Darlingest Brother George,_

_I was thinking of you, dear brother, and just had to write. The shop is quite lonesome in your absence. Feel I can't go on, the heart aches as though stabbed with knife, and all that. I'm sure you're near incapacitated with your longing for me. Wouldn't be surprised if you smeared this very ink with desperate, melancholy tears._

_However, one must carry on, you know, so I've been putting myself to good use. (As if there weren't a good use for a Weasley twin already. Ha!) I've been experimenting with our Wildfire Whiz-Bangs and have added several new shapes for them to take (flying unicorns, giant gnomes, and Stars of David for Jewish holidays, of course). Am dabbling in more color changes. Chartreuse and magenta are a bit tough, but I've gotten the hang of it. You'd be proud of me, brother of mine!_

_Now I've got you entranced with my doings here at the shop, what've you been up to? I hope Mum's well and isn't too miffed about our wild success. Ditto Ronald and Gin. Tell Harry my best wishes are with him and for him to give You-Know-Who a biff on ye olde conke for me. _

_And this brings me to the last member of the household, Hermione "The Fair" Granger. I trust that you've been dogging away at the lovely lass in my stead. Probably by now you've had to shove her out of our bedroom at nights. I wouldn't be surprised, given our dashing looks and charming wit! Nevertheless, if you aren't quite as advanced in the plan as I've just supposed, don't fret, dear. I have some suggestions. Whip out the Sayings, for example, if you haven't already. Demonstrate to her our prowess at near everything (shouldn't be hard), and make sure to engage her in alluring discourse, hinting perhaps at my legendary skill in the bedroom, hm? _

_If none of the above works (and this is highly unlikely) I'm sure you'll be able to think of something on your own. You've always been the more respectable gentleman of the two of us (I being more of the debonair, romantic hero), so you ought to have no problem. At any rate, good luck and good hunting. _

_Reply._

_Much love,_

_Fred_

George refolded the letter with a bit of a sigh. He really had nearly forgotten about the whole reason for everyone's calling him Fred. However, hearing from his brother had somewhat instilled the thrill of mischief in him, and he was ready to start anew on the Hermione front. He made a mental note to write back to Fred and went in search of the quarry.

After checking in the room Hermione and Ginny shared and finding only several books stacked on the floor beside a rollaway bed, George decided to check downstairs. He'd reached the top of the staircase before hearing the voice of the very person he had been looking for.

"_What_ are you on about, Ron?" Her voice sounded hot and annoyed. Not quite angry yet, but getting there.

"I dunno, Hermione," replied George's brother from somewhere out of sight. "What are _you_ on about?"

George crouched down and peered through the rickety wooden railing of the staircase. Hermione and Ron were in the living room, Hermione sitting in one of the armchairs with a book, Ron standing with his fists clenched near the coffee table. _Just lovely, _thought George, rolling his eyes. _Another chance for young Ronald to botch up his life._

"Honestly, Ron!" sighed Hermione. "I can't talk to you if you're going to be childish."

"Me, childish?" scoffed Ron. "What was that little tizzy you threw the other day after breakfast?"

"Tizzy!" Hermione's eyes flashed, George could tell even from the top of the stairs. He cringed on behalf of his clueless younger brother, who only seemed to be incensed by this angry repetition of words. "I'll give you tizzy, Ron Weasley!"

George decided to intervene before anything drastic happened. He quickly swept down the stairs and at the sight of Ron and Hermione feigned surprise.

"Why, Ronald! Hermione! I never expected to see _you_ here in the living room!" he exclaimed. "Not interrupting anything, I hope?" He looked at the both of them with a raised eyebrow.

_"Definitely not,"_ said Ron firmly, his mouth set in a tight line. Hermione let out a loud huff and stormed off to disappear upstairs.

George gave Ron a meaningful look. Ron noticed and gave George a "what the hell?" look.

"Well?" said George.

"Well _what_?" asked Ron, stubbornly crossing his arms.

George huffed and put his hands on his hips. "Honestly, Ron!" Then he strutted from the room after Hermione. Behind him he could hear Ron collapse back into the sofa and mutter, "Barking mad, the lot of them."

This time when George knocked on the door to Hermione and Ginny's room, there was a loud thump and an angry but unintelligible shout. "Hello!" said George, opening the door a crack before stepping in. "It's the maid. I've come to put a little mint on your pillow!"

Hermione sighed. "Oh, it's _you_, Fred," she said, sitting up on her rollaway and leaning against the wall.

"You say that with so much joy." He crossed the room to sit next to Hermione, the metal frame of the rollaway creaking under his weight.

"I'm not exactly joyful, as you can see," she said dryly, looking at her hands resting in her lap.

"Oh, can I?" inquired George, taking a close look at Hermione. She blinked at him. Finally he sat back and shook his head. "Nope. Definitely cannot see that you're not joyful. In fact, there's a definite rosy-cheeked-ness about you."

"They're rosy with anger," Hermione told him.

"Perhaps," said George. "Although I didn't specify which color of rose I was thinking of when I used the word. You automatically assumed it to be the red or pink, but what if it were white or yellow? Then you could be either scared or very, very ill. However, I see that if you thought I meant red, it would make sense that it would express anger, as red roses mean passion. After all, we both hate and love 'with a passion,' while we cannot be fearfully angry, I suppose. Do you see what I mean?"

Hermione stared at George for a moment before saying: "I'm a bit scared, because that was actually somewhat intelligible."

"Excellent," said George with a smile. "Now then, let's get back to business. I can't remember what we were talking about. Can you?"

To George's immense amusement, it took Hermione a bit to remember what it was. "Ron," she said finally, scowling darkly at nothing in particular.

"Ah, yes. Young Ronald," George said. "Bit of a tosser, wot?" At Hermione's stony expression, George exhaled. "Don't let Ron get to you," he advised, picking at some loose skin beside his thumbnail. "He's not tactful in the least. No delicacy in that lad. None."

"Not like you?" Hermione asked wryly.

"Are you suggesting _I _am untactful, madam?" George asked, offended. "Well, to that I say, 'Tinkerty-tonk!' And I mean it to sting."

And to George's immense surprise, Hermione Granger smiled. Actually _smiled_ at something he said. Smiled with perfectly sized teeth and with crinkly eyes and with cheeks bunching up in the way really big smiles make them do. For that moment, George saw what Fred was talking about; he really did. And, losing all of his affected suaveness and nonchalance, he said: "You're beautiful."

Hermione jerked her head up and stared at him as if he'd slapped her or vomited on her or something else alarming. "What did you say?" she whispered.

Just as abruptly as it'd come over George, the spell was broken. "Oh, nothing, dearie," he reassured her. "I was just talking to myself." He grinned cheekily.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she wasn't the same Hermione anymore. George wasn't sure what had changed about her, but she just was not the way she'd been a few minutes ago, all angry and such. She was _different_, and this made George quite distressed.

He stood quickly, the rollaway creaking loudly. Hermione gave him a strange look "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I have to use the toilet now!" George declared. "Wish me luck." He waved as he left the room to a very confused Hermione.

As soon as he reached the sanctity of his bedroom again, George flopped down onto the bed, facedown in his pillow. "Young Ronald is right," he said, his voice muffled. "I _am_ absolutely barking."

Suddenly there was a screech from the corner of the room, and it sounded rather upset, George noted. He looked up from his bed and saw the giant eagle owl still perched on top of the mountain of boxes, waiting for him to reply to Fred's letter. It looked pointedly at a bit of parchment hanging out of one of the boxes.

"Fine, fine," sighed George, dragging himself out of bed to pen a reply to his brother. He sat down at a rather decrepit wooden desk in the corner, cleared away some space, and began writing:

_Freddie Woozy Wimpleskin Pet,_

_Reply? Yes. Am doing so immediately after wooing the fair Hermione with compliments forged in the smithy of love. Have been discussing at length the subjects of fairies and of the stars being God's daisy chain, lying under the shade of the weeping willow tree by the babbling brook._

_Not really. That bit about daisy chains and brooks… I was lying. But I really was wooing, promise._

_Everything here is absolutely corking. I've been having a splendiferous time with the young ones. Dear Ronald is just as hotheaded as ever, if not more so, although a sight less fun to tease in your absence. Ginevra grows more beautiful by the day, or at least one Harry Potter seems to think so. Boom, boom! Looks like he may be our Chosen-One-in-law sometime soon. Have already crossed fingers and knocked wood, if that's appropriate for this situation. Am not entirely sure._

_I haven't had the opportunity to speak with Mum at any length as of yet. However, she seems to be rather pleased with our accomplishments, I'd say, mainly because she hasn't yelled at me for storing things in our room. That is only speculation, mind you. She may be silently stewing, as a simmering soup silently stews. (Note the whatsit in that last sentence. The bit with lots of the same letter.)_

_I hope you've been having success with the Whiz-Bangs. I wish I could join you. I suggest you add house-elf shapes, or maybe hidden thestral shapes that only work for certain people. Wouldn't that be a lark? Someone buys them only to find that they can't see them. Oh, how we'll laugh._

_That's all that's going on here, or at least all I can think of. Am awaiting your arrival with perpetually open arms, sweetheart darling._

_As yours as is possible with the abolishment of slavery,_

_George_

- - - - - - - - -

**Tempest:** Not really quite sure about this chapter. I like the letters that Fred and George wrote. Those were a lot of fun to write. I'm trying to meld a Louise Rennison style with P.G. Wodehouse to come up with Fred and George Weasley. It's kinda tough. Also, I'm not British, and so cannot achieve the delightful Britishocity with true authenticity. I'm so sad. On another note, my computer is being evil death machine, so it's hard to say when I'll be able to post next. Will do so asap.

The Fred vs. George Poll stands as such:

**Fred – **7 (50)

**George – **7 (50)

Not really very telling, but George _was_ ahead until I got a review about ten minutes ago saying Fred. Also, not a lot of the people who reviewed this chapter replied to the poll. If you didn't answer the poll last time, do so NOW. It will be open until the end of the story.

TO PEOPLE:

**Christy:** I'm so sorry to hear you cringe every time you read a George/Hermione story… That makes me unspeakably sad. I hope you aren't perpetually cringing or anything.

**Chocolatefroggie19:** There aren't many good Hermione/twin stories out there. A good F/Hr one is "Just a Harmless Joke" by CrazyGirl47 (in my favorites), and a mediocre Ge/Hr story is "Textbook Perfect" by dezirae (also in my favorites). A pretty good twin-triangle fic is "Twin Who Cried Wolf" by Sandra E (faves), but it was never finished, which makes me sad. And of course, "Hermione's Summer" by aleximoon. It's not as good as "Their Room" (Draco/Hermione), but it's what got me into Hermione/twin stuff.

**SweetPoison:** I'm glad you feel that way about the Ron/Hermione thing. I was worried people would get mad about it. I _know_ R/Hr is basically canon by now, and I do support it, but for this story, I just can't have it, so I have to make Ron a bitch, pretty much.

**Silly222:** Yes, that's pretty much exactly how I see George in comparison to Fred. Not _as_ wild, but still up there.

**Cantatedomino, SilentConfession, Nomina, Close2MiiHeart, haiga, Some Random Reviewer, musicalbballgal, Lyz, padfootblack6293, seghen, Randomisation, Amber Moons, angryteabag, WeaslyTwinLover, Mrs Pierre Bouvier, animerocksjapanrocks, Crapulence, RainbowKneeHighSox, Anigen, Lorelai the Coffee Slayer, **and **Wicked-59:** Thank you all SO much for reviewing and answering the poll, if you did so. If you think I don't notice your review, well, you're wrong. I do indeed. And I'll know if you review again, because I'll recognize your name from writing out this list you see in bold. Thanks again. J

Review, review, review!


	5. Ice, Fire, Tango

**Doublemint Gum**

By Tempest Break

Disclaimer: Yyyyyy… no.

- - - - - - - - -

**Chapter Five: Ice, Fire, Tango**

George tentatively placed a foot on the top stair of the shaky staircase, listening to the voices in the living room with a keen ear. It was three days since he had comforted Hermione in her room, and ever since that day, George had been trying to put those few seconds—those moments when he had dropped the charade—out of his mind, but he had been failing miserably. This failure was mainly due to the only other participant in the interaction that day:

Hermione.

She was everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. Even when she wasn't physically in the same room as George, she was still there. George had thought to himself that he was going mad on more than one occasion. He'd tried to put the blame on Hermione on just as many. Every time he tried to glare at her, however, he found that his eyebrows just wouldn't knit together properly and that his mouth wouldn't frown right.

It was really quite maddening, actually.

So—and this was rather embarrassing conduct, he confessed to himself—he'd taken to fleeing the room whenever she would appear. He couldn't help it. He wanted his privacy, and she was _always there_. And also… well, George hated to admit it, but there was a teeny, tiny part of him that was scared of Hermione Granger. Maybe even bigger than "teeny, tiny."

_Fine,_ he admitted bitterly. _I'm bloody terrified of her. _

Not because of her prowess with a wand, although that was well known to George. Nor because of her hot temper, though that, too, had not escaped George's keen powers of perception. No. George Weasley was afraid, terrified, frightened out of his wits by pretty girls.

It was crippling, really, this irrational fear. It had plagued his life for years. George figured he was good-looking; he _knew_ that Fred was, from all of his brother's success with girls, and Fred was, of course, his identical twin. Still, George felt completely helpless when confronted with an attractive member of the opposite sex. And Hermione was, undeniably, a girl, and a pretty one, at that. George gave an involuntary shudder at the mere thought.

He had originally been a bit iffy about the plan because of his stunting phobia, but then he'd thought about it. This was Hermione Granger, young Ronald's friend and (apparently) long-time crush. The girl with bushy hair and bucked teeth and with her nose perpetually stuck in a book. He could handle this. And he _had_ handled it, until three days ago when Hermione had suddenly and inexplicably become absurdly beautiful.

_I mean, really, _thought George, _what the hell?_

Now, though, he found himself nauseated with terror by the mere sight of Hermione. Hermione, with her intelligent brown eyes and curly brown hair that framed her smooth face in perfect ringlets… George had had a lot of time alone to think of description.

The thing that really stymied him, though, was that he couldn't do what he usually did. He _couldn't_ avoid Hermione as he'd done with girls in the past. He had a job to do, and it was for his twin brother, the person who meant most to him in the world, the person who had always been there. And that was why George was forcing himself to walk downstairs at that moment, knowing that in the living room, his little sister Ginny was engaging his biggest fear in a game of chess.

To George's great relief, Hermione's back was to him as he came down the stairs. He could see wisps of her curly hair over the back of the beat-up armchair. _I could still get away without her seeing me, _he thought desperately to himself.

But then Ginny looked up. "Hello, Fred," she greeted. "Finally decided to join the rest of us, eh?"

"Oh, ha," George laughed weakly. "Yes, I suppose." He took another few steps down the rickety stairs.

And then the unthinkable and unavoidable happened. Hermione turned around. And as if that weren't bad enough, she smiled at him.

"Hi, Fred," she said, beaming up at George.

George froze, his mind a blur of panic and adrenaline. He finally blurted out the first thing that came to his mind: "Hello, Sunshine!"

This was, of course, the other effect of George's inane fear of girls: He would say the most ridiculous things. It usually went unnoticed, he being a Weasley twin, but it caused more than his share of grief, as he normally berated himself for hours afterward. This time was no different. George was just to the part in his curses when he talked about himself being a useless clod, when Hermione did the most unexpected thing.

She laughed.

George was so surprised that he overstepped, his foot missing the next step completely. He lost his balance and tumbled, crashing face-first to the hardwood floor. The nearby cabinet shook, a very old china plate falling off and shattering over George's back.

"Fred!" Hermione and Ginny cried in unison, both of them standing quickly.

"I'm fine," George mumbled, pushing himself off the floor. Suddenly he felt a sting of pain; a sharp shard of the plate had dug itself into the palm of his left hand. He hissed a little as he studied his hand and blood began to travel down his arm.

Someone gasped. George looked up. It was Ginny. She and Hermione had apparently rushed over to help him. George turned back toward his bleeding hand. The now-red piece of porcelain had fallen back to the floor below, and he took care to avoid it as he rose to his knees.

_"Scourgefy." _Hermione flicked her wand and the blood disappeared from the floor and shard of china. _"Reparo," _and all of the broken pieces darted toward each other and magically repaired themselves.

George glanced up at Hermione; her attention was now on him. "Come on, Fred," she said, holding a hand out to help him up. "Let's get you cleaned up…"

George hesitated only a moment before accepting her hand. She hoisted him up and ushered him into the kitchen and over to the sink. She flipped on the warm tap and shoved his left hand under the running water.

"It doesn't look too bad," she said, examining the cut. "Still, I ought to bandage it or something. Ginny?"

"Yeah?" Ginny seemed to have followed them into the kitchen. George hadn't noticed; he'd been busy hyperventilating over the physical contact with Hermione.

"Do you have a First Aid kit?" Hermione inquired, gently rubbing some of the blood off George's arm with her finger.

Ginny blinked at her. "A _what_, now?"

Hermione sighed and let go of George's hand. "Fine, then," she said, more to herself than anyone else, George thought. "Do you have any old T-shirts we could rip up?"

"Sure. Percy's," said Ginny with a grin. "He left some ratty ones up in his room. Probably not fit for his new job." She rolled her eyes.

"Great," Hermione answered. Then she turned back to George and said, "Keep the hot tap running, all right? It'll clean up the cut, flush out any bits of the plate that may still be in there. I'll be back shortly."

George nodded mutely. He didn't speak for fear of making an utter fool of himself. With a last look that seemed to confirm to Hermione that he would obey, she and Ginny rushed out of the kitchen, leaving George standing dumbly at the sink.

"_Man_, I'm cool," he muttered, staring down at his injured hand.

"What about over here, Ron?" called a voice from outside the kitchen window. George craned his neck to get a look at what was happening and saw Harry standing outside in muddy galoshes and yellow rubber gloves, holding giant hedge-clippers. The scarred boy was pointing to a rather large, gnarled bush growing beside a decrepit cement birdbath.

"Sure," came the reply, and George's younger brother came into view, dressed similarly to Harry, only his gloves were pink. George made a mental note to tease Ron relentlessly about this at a later time.

The two boys set to work hacking away at the bush, which turned out to be a Gnarled Gnasher, a cousin to the Whomping Willow that wasn't uncommon in the Weasleys' unkempt backyard. Mrs. Weasley seemed to have set Harry and Ron to the task of getting rid of the several clumps of dangerous foliage growing around their house.

"Get that knot down there, Harry. It'll take off your hand."

Harry, with a great wrenching of his arms, managed to snap off a giant knot of wood that had grown rather sharp and menacing teeth. "I think that was the worst of it," said Harry, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm and looking at Ron attacking a rather vicious branch of the bush. "You're quite good at that," he observed, as Ron cleanly slashed off the branch at its base.

"Been doing it for years," replied Ron, renewing his efforts against the Gnasher. "These things aren't near as nasty to deal with as some people, though."

George had a feeling Ron was referring to him and Fred, but Harry seemed to have other ideas. "I hope you don't mean Hermione," he said, a bit stiffly.

Ron laughed. "I didn't have her in mind, no," he answered, "but now you mention it, I'd rather face five Gnashers than one angry Hermione."

"You do know that _you've_ been causing an awful lot of her anger lately," Harry told him cautiously.

"'S'not _my_ fault the girl's got a short fuse!" Ron retorted indignantly, chopping off another branch from the rather defeated-looking Gnasher.

"All I'm saying is that you ought to make a bit more of an effort," said Harry, shrugging. "_You're_ the one who fancies the girl."

Ron shot Harry daggers at those words, but it didn't seem to faze him. With one last hack, Ron completely destroyed what was left of the bush and wrenched up the roots from the ground. "Let's get that one over there," he said darkly, and headed out of George's line of sight.

"Ron, come on…" Harry began to plead, following his friend. George was trying to get a better look at where they were off to when he heard footsteps behind him.

"Ginny's still up there," Hermione said, bustling back into the kitchen. George jumped at the sound of her voice. "She's found some old tatty book in the back of Percy's dresser drawer. Thinks it's his diary or something, I don't know…"

George tried to smile as she took up her spot next to him at the sink, wielding long strips of cotton with a broken "Flourish and Blott's" insignia on some of them. However, given her proximity, George guessed the best he managed was a grimace of pain.

"Does it hurt much?" Hermione asked, seeing his face.

"What?" he inquired, wondering if she meant his heart, which was pounding painfully against his ribcage.

She gave him a look. "…Your hand."

"Oh! Oh… no," George replied lamely, "not much, no…"

"Well, give it here," she commanded, taking George's thoroughly wet hand out from under the hot tap. She began to wrap it tightly in the makeshift bandages. "It shouldn't be too bad, really," she told him, winding the cotton strips around his palm quickly. "This will just keep it from bleeding so it's got time to scab over."

George nodded, watcher her handiwork in silence.

As Hermione tucked away the stray tail of the last bandage, she patted George's hand a bit. "There you go," she told him.

"You're welcome," George replied through the panicked haze of his mind. Hermione looked at him in puzzlement; he mentally slapped himself. "I meant… er… _thank you_," he said quickly. "Yes, that's the one."

Hermione let out a little snort of laughter. "It's no trouble," she answered, setting the rest of the bandages on the kitchen counter. "Just don't go around tripping over steps, all right?"

"Aye, aye, Captain." Once again, George kicked himself internally. He turned away from Hermione and looked out the window, wondering how Harry and Ron were faring against the Gnashers.

Hermione gave him a worried look. "Are you sure you haven't injured your head, too, Fred?" she asked.

"George," he corrected without thinking.

There was a brief silence during which George heard what he'd just said. He whirled toward Hermione, who was staring at him. "I mean—" he began, but she cut him off.

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed, startling George out of his wits. To his immense surprise, she reached up and began ruffling up his hair and looking intently at his head.

"Hermione, what—?"

"You're concussed!" she nearly shouted, her fingers feeling his skull. "Oh, where's the bump?" Her hands suddenly gripped his shoulders, and she stared meaningfully into his eyes. "You're _Fred_ Weasley," she said to him, slowly and firmly. "Not George. _Fred_."

George blinked back at her, relief overtaking him. She hadn't caught on. _Definitely not,_ he thought, relieved, as she pulled him down to sit on one of the chairs around the kitchen table so she could continue her frantic examination of his head.

And then realization dawned on him. Hermione's words churned over and over in his head. He wasn't George Weasley in her mind; he was his twin, his twin who had never had any problems with women. So why should he be worried at all? He wasn't George anymore; he was cool, self-confident Fred.

"I'm Fred," George said aloud, a smile playing around his lips.

"Yes, that's right," Hermione agreed, nodding her head as she would at a child.

Suddenly there was a loud tapping at the kitchen window. George and Hermione both turned toward the noise to find an unfamiliar owl hovering outside. George made a move to open the window, but Hermione stayed him with a firm hand on his shoulder and went to it herself. As soon as she threw open the window, the barn owl swooped in and landed in front of George, holding out its leg.

"Looks like it's for you," Hermione observed.

George nodded. He confusedly untied the letter, opened it, and read:

_George – _

_In St. Mungo's. Come alone tomorrow, will explain then._

_Love,_

_Fred_

- - - - - - - - -

**Tempest:** Well, actually, the whole George-is-afraid-of-girls thing wasn't planned. It makes me sad that my characters still won't listen to what I want them to do, even when I plan it ahead of time… Anyway, here's the updated poll since chapter three:

Fred vs. George Poll:

**Fred – **9 (36)

**George – **16 (64)

Yeah, George made a real sweep this time. It was really intense. If you didn't answer the poll last time, go ahead and answer now. The poll will be open until the end of the story. And remember, it's your vote over who you like better of canon Fred and George; not whom you want Hermione to end up with.

TO PEOPLE:

**Blu star87** and **SweetPoison:** That's exactly the idea I want everyone to have of my Fred. Thank you. I'm glad you think so.

**Crapulence:** Next chapter will be more Fred/George interaction, so I hope you'll see more of a difference between the two of them. I intend for them to be subtly but definitely different.

**Close2MiiHeart:** Oh my goodness, I was so pleased when I got your review. I immediately put on the most triumphant music I had ("The Final Countdown" by Europe) and let myself be very, very happy. Yes. I'm pleased.

**DefyingXXXgravity:** My response doesn't actually have anything to do with the story, but… I love _Wicked_, and especially the song "Defying Gravity." So yeah. That's all I wanted to say. :)

**Cantatedomino, haiga, musicalbballgal, Lorelai the Coffee Slayer, Who wants to no, SilentConfession, chocolatefroggie19, Some Random Reviewer, animerocksjapanrocks, Legessa, Melmel w, Randomisation, Mrs Pierre Bouvier, Nomia, Wicked-59, Sammy, Amber Moons, EmeraldEyes007, WhiteKingdom, Blood-Covered-Ivory, **and **Lyz:** Thank all of you so much for reviewing. It really gives me so much inspiration to continue writing this story, especially since I'm actually having more success with this story than I did with "Change of Heart" at first, which makes me really happy. So thank you guys. Keep helping me out! Please!

Review, review, review!


	6. Peppermint

**Doublemint Gum**

By Tempest Break

Disclaimer: Still is… not mine.

- - - - - - - - -

**Chapter Six: Peppermint**

George looked apprehensively at the bustling crowd within the musty reception room of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Years ago in his youth, he had found all of the patients' injuries fascinating, but ever since his father's attack in the twins' seventh year, he had loathed the place. It seemed to oppress him, even though the beat-up pieces of furniture should have reminded him at least a little of the Burrow. Instead they just took him back to the dread he'd felt two years ago when they'd come to visit a snake-bitten Mr. Weasley.

Dragging his feet slowly, George approached the witch at the reception desk. "Erm, hello," George greeted the clerk, a titchy, mousy-haired brunette who had replaced the former blonde. "I'm here to see Fred Weasley."

She looked up at him. Her deep brown eyes reminded George of Hermione's, before one of them twitched. "M-may I ask w-what relation y-you are?" she inquired.

"Identical twin," replied George. _And sometimes even Fred himself, _he added mentally.

He watched as the witch's shaky fingers trembled along the list before her. "F-Fred Weasley!" she stammered when she found the name. "Y-yes, ground f-floor, room s-seven." She pointed out the door to the waiting room, from which extended a narrow, portrait-lined hallway.

"Thank you," said George, sparing the anxious witch a quick bob of his head before leaving the reception room. He shot a glance at the sign beside the exit:

"_ARTIFACT ACCIDENTS: Cauldron explosions, wand backfiring, broom crashes, etc."_

_What the hell did Fred manage to do to himself?_ George wondered, shaking his head.

As soon as George passed through the faux-wood double doors to the reception room, a horrible wailing burst from the room to his immediate right. He jumped a good three feet away from the door, praying that it wasn't his brother. George craned his neck to see through the small window in the door and caught sight of a blonde mediwitch administering a syringe of something to a flailing wizard.

"It's all right, Mr. Sayers," the mediwitch was saying, soothingly. "The pain will go away quite soon."

Mr. Sayers let out a bloodcurdling shriek, one of his frantically thrashing arms knocking over an untouched tray of food on his bedside table.

"The anesthetic will… take effect in… just a moment…!" the mediwitch got out between attempts to restrain Mr. Sayers from hitting anything else.

George gave an involuntary shudder as the wizard calmed down. He moved on down the hall, encountering no more mishaps, and finally turned into room number seven. There he found his twin brother reclining on a hospital bed looking none the worse for wear, except, if anything, for some rather rosy cheeks.

"Well, it's about time!" Fred grinned at his brother as he walked through the doorway. "I've been waiting all morning for you to show up."

George shrugged. "It was hard to get out of the house without anyone noticing," he replied, drawing up a chair he found beside Fred's bed. He eyed his brother, a brow raised. "What, exactly, are you doing here, anyway?"

Fred cleared his throat. "I had a run-in…" Suddenly he belched loudly, and vermilion smoke poured from his mouth. Fred and George both stared as the red smoke curled up toward the ceiling and dissipated. "…with a Whiz-Bang," Fred finished.

George nodded his head in acknowledgment. "What happened, it pick a fight with you?"

"I guess I swallowed it or summat."

"You guess you swallowed it." It was more a disbelieving statement than a question. "How'd you manage that?"

"Oh, I'd been training for it, of course," Fred said sarcastically. "Finally got it to shoot off right down my throat, you really should have seen it." He said this with a bit of irritation, recalling to George's mind that his twin prided himself greatly on his dexterity around the merchandise.

"So, what've _you_ been doing?" continued Fred, at a very obvious attempt to change the subject. "Gallivanting about the Burrow, I assume, having loads of fun while your twin languishes, dying on a hospital bed…"

"Oh, the usual," answered George offhandedly. "I have been, of course, working tirelessly to maintain the integrity of the Weasley residence. The youngsters are continually threatening our good name with besmirchment, but luckily there is at least one twin in the house to uphold our honor."

Fred nodded knowingly. "Yes, young Ronald in particular has become a slave to debauchery, what with that purple girl. Absolutely unsuitable behavior for a Weasley. He should be banished from the fam."

"Or if not banished, then reprimanded severely."

"Agreed. Now then, what's this I hear about Ginny cavorting with Him of the Lightning-Bolt Scar?"

George shrugged. "Mainly speculation on my part, I suppose," he said. "Although they were shooting rather libidinous glances at each other from across the breakfast table, and when I mentioned it, they turned about the color of the smoke you're burping."

"Hmm," Fred mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I have considered the evidence and have decided that you may be on to something, inspector."

"Thanks, chief," replied George. "So what have you been doing? Other than urinating in a bedpan, I mean."

"Oh, so you noticed that, then," said Fred. "And I was so careful not to splash."

Before George could even grimace at the thought of sloshing of that kind, the door clicked open, and the same blonde mediwitch whom George had seen administering a shot to the flailing wizard in the other room entered. She held a tray laden with fruit, pudding, and something that George supposed was meat.

"Hey, Gaia," Fred greeted her. "Lunchtime?"

"Mm-hmm," said the blonde witch, setting the tray down on the two arms of Fred's bed so that it rested just over his lap. "I see you have a visitor." She turned her earth-colored eyes on George. "And one who looks exactly like you, at that."

Fred swallowed a spoonful of pudding and nodded. "Gaia, meet George Weasley, my younger twin brother." He gestured at George with his plastic spoon-slash-fork.

George shook the hand that the nurse extended to him. "Gaia Genetrix," she said. Her wheat-colored hair fell in soft curls around her face, and she was not as thin as Hermione, but rather a bit on the chubby side. "It's nice to meet you."

"You, too," replied George. "And he's only older by two minutes, by the way."

Gaia laughed, but her laughter was interrupted by a sudden gasp. She snatched up George's left hand and began examining it the slightly bloody cotton bandages that Hermione had made the day before. "What did you do to your hand?" she demanded.

George, bewildered, stammered out, "I-it's nothing. I just cut it on some porcelain or something…"

"Oh." She released his hand immediately and straightened up again. "Well, whoever wrapped it did an excellent job, as far as I can tell." She smiled sweetly before turning back to Fred, who had moved on to the suspicious-looking meat on his plate. As usual, he ignored the fruit.

"You seem to be doing better," she said to Fred with a smile. "That was a pretty potent firecracker to have you burping smoke for twenty-four hours. Were they Filibusters?"

Fred shook his head. "Nope," he said smugly. "They're our own make, mine and George's."

Gaia raised her eyebrows. "Impressive," she said, surprised. There was a loud crash from the next-door room that made George jump, but Fred and the nurse were obviously used to it. Gaia sighed. "Well, I'd love to hear how you make your own fireworks, but it sounds like Mrs. Butterwick is hungry. I'll see you at dinnertime, Fred. Nice to meet you, George." With a short wave and another cheerful smile, she left the room.

As soon as the door had closed, Fred commented offhandedly, "Nice girl, Gaia," around a mouthful of the "meat". He quickly swallowed and said eagerly, "Hermione's the one who wrapped your hand, wasn't she?"

George grinned and nodded. "Indeed."

Fred sighed romantically and flopped back onto the inclined bed. "I do _so_ love a girl who can take care of me in my times of need!" he declared. He exhaled dramatically once more before sitting back up and inquiring: "So, how've you been doing with Hermione?"

George shrugged noncommittally. "She's on the edge of falling for the old Weasley charm," he answered. "One foot over the cliff, if you will. Maybe hanging from some old tree roots halfway down."

"Ah, yes, that oh-so-maddening tree root." Fred nodded knowingly. "Don't worry, though. It's been my experience that it breaks quite soon, and then she plunges to the Weasley crocodile below." He popped another forkful of "meat" into his mouth.

"Well, there's another obstacle besides the root," George admitted, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

"Is there, now?" inquired Fred, interestedly. He leaned forward across his lunch tray, nearly smearing some rather viscous gravy across his clean linens. "Tell me all."

George bit his lip for several more seconds, stalling for effect, before saying: "I am of the persuasion that young Ronald _fancies_ the fair Hermione!"

Fred burst out laughing. "Imagine that!" he chuckled. "Ickle Ronniekins is finally becoming a man." He finally stopped giggling and asked: "And what are Hermione's thoughts on this? Does she know?"

George shrugged. "I dunno if she _knows_, exactly," he answered, "but there is sufficient evidence to infer that she perhaps returns some of the feeling."

"Huh," said Fred, chewing his last piece of meat. "Well, what do you know? Ron and Hermione… who would've thought?"

"Completely boggles the mind. Never would have guessed," agreed George. He screwed up his mouth. "But, er, maybe we shouldn't botch this up for our ickle brudder, d'you think? Blood being thicker than water, and all that."

"Heh, he's had six years to do something about it," Fred answered. "You've got to just go with these things, you know. You can't let life pass you by. Young Ronald must learn that for himself." He put the tray with the untouched fruit aside and crossed his arms over his chest. "And I don't want _you_ hesitating a bit, either. You've got to live my life for me, me ol' image-an'-likeness. Live fast and hope to die with no sexually transmitted diseases—that's the Fred Weasley way!"

"At the rate you're going," said George, eyeing Fred in the hospital bed, "it won't be VD that kills you. You'll do it to yourself."

Fred shrugged. "If it doesn't go against the Fred Weasley way, I've got nothing against it."

"Well, the Fred Weasley way is a little too hospitalizing for me," George answered. "I'll live fast and everything, but any mention of STDs, and I'm heading for the hills." He glanced at the clock, which read 3:47 pm. "I should be getting back to the Burrow. How much longer d'you think you'll be in here?"

"Not long," answered Fred. "In fact, I could probably leave right now. I feel just fantas—" An enormous belch cut off Fred mid-sentence. A giant ring of red smoke drifted up toward the ceiling.

George raised an eyebrow at his brother, who smiled sheepishly. He started toward the door.

"Oh, so you're leaving your poor, dying elder brother?" Fred asked. "That's an awfully nice gesture of you."

"I'll send you flowers," George replied over his shoulder.

"Make it a ten-speed bicycle and some chocolates, and we'll call it even."

George's hand stalled on the doorknob. "How about I just get you friendship, and you stop complaining?"

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Weasley," shouted Fred as George walked out the door. "But I think the ten-speed bicycle—" The door clicked closed on Fred's voice, and George smiled as he walked out of the hospital.

- - - - - - - - -

**Tempest:** Wellllllll… I don't really like this chapter, either, but I figured it wasn't going to get any better if I let it be. I just really needed to finally update this story, because I have been seriously slacking, and I've sort of got out of my groove, so I'm sorry for the lacking content in this chapter.

Fred vs. George Poll:

**Fred –** 14 (35.9 percent)

**George – **25 (64.1 percent)

I'm thinking George is winning by so much just because this has a reputation as a George/Hermione story by now, so all the George fans are flocking to it. Now for some reviews.

**CuteDreaming:** Yes, I always have to double check that I used the right name for George when he's at the Burrow. Fortunately in this chapter there was none of that, so I think I'm probably okay.

**purplecrazy2291:** "Canon" means that it's in the actual books and is accepted as fact in the Harry Potter universe.

**Some Random Reviewer:** Haha, I appreciate your confidence in CoH. I think it was popular at first, just not _as_ popular as this one has been. 143 reviews for 5 chapters is pretty good…

**audreyblaine: **I'm glad you like the dialogue so much. It's probably my favorite part of any story, so I try to make it good in mine.

**Kira Temeki:** You read "Change of Heart", right? I mean, it's a James/Lily story, so you should like it… Thanks for reading other stuff. :)

And to **cantatedomino, LadyShard, animerocksjapanrocks, WhiteKingdom, .R.I.P. Samara, musicalbballgirl, Mavan, Sirius's Daughter, seghen, defyingXXXgravity, lovely ravenclaw, Madam Sorceress, Mrs Pierre Bouvier, disaster strikes again, Hawaiian-Rachael, heavengurl899, Sweet Poison, Jen, Amber Moons, haiga, Wicked-59; legallyinsane, facdes, **and **hehe** (probably all the same person); **KatsunoCZ, Contradiction Personified, julyjules, Lorelai the Coffee Slayer, ClassiestMokuren, Randomisation, Lyz, xX-Rupert-Has-My-Heart-Xx, yuki-ryou, Eireann Dubh, bardsgrl4evr, uselessvisionary, SnowAngelYuki,** and **fallen-dreamz:** Thank you all for reviewing. It took me a really long time to type up all your names because of all your reviews—thank you so much. I hope you didn't lose hope in me


	7. Hot Cinnamon

**Doublemint Gum**

By Tempest Break

**Disclaimer:** You know, I _still_ don't own _Harry Potter_. Go figure.

- - - - - - - - -

**Chapter Seven: Hot Cinnamon**

_CRASH!_

"_Ronald Weasley, __what__ have you done now!?" _

George jerked awake to the sound of his mother's angry voice coming from downstairs. He blinked groggily as he heard his younger brother mumbling something in a meek defense—futile against the wrath of Molly Weasley.

"_Well, you can just come along with me and __buy__ a replacement in Diagon Alley!"_ bellowed Molly.

Ron raised an outcry, but this, too, the furious woman brushed aside.

"_No__, you cannot just Reparo your great-great-grandmother's urn!"_ railed Molly Weasley._ "And the money is coming out of __your own pockets__!"_

George dully heard Ginny's voice pipe up downstairs, followed by that of young Harry Potter. Molly's voice calmed to a normal, unintelligible tone in response to those two, and then they all quieted down. George had nearly drifted back to sleep when he heard a voice shout, "Diagon Alley!" and the familiar rush of Floo Powder. Three more voices followed the first, and then silence befell the Burrow again.

Eventually George admitted to himself that he would not be able to go back to sleep, so he rolled out of bed, being careful not to fall to the floor this time, and trudged into the twins' bathroom. After brushing his teeth and tugging on some clothes, George tramped downstairs where he found, to his surprise, Hermione sitting, curled up on the living room couch with a rather large, leather-bound book.

Immediately he turned back up the stairs and had his foot on the next step up before he remembered that he was, once again, his debonair brother and not himself. So instead of retreating back to his room, he whirled back around to face the girl who until a few days ago had been only his younger brother's bookworm friend, and he consciously drew the cloak of Fred's sophistication about himself.

"Hello, Hermione," he greeted suavely, unwittingly pitching his voice an octave lower.

Hermione looked up from her book at him, an eyebrow raised inquisitively. "Hello, Fred."

"So…reading a book, are we?" he continued, striding over to sit across from her in the beat-up armchair. He put up his feet on the coffee table and crossed his legs nonchalantly, casting what he believed to be an alluring look at Hermione.

But instead of sighing in newfound love, Hermione only blinked at George. "Are you using a fake voice?"

"_No_," George said firmly. "Not anymore…" He cleared his throat loudly and inquired, in his normal voice: "So, where is everyone?"

"Well, Ron broke an urn, and your mother decided that he had to pay for it with his own money, so they all went to Diagon Alley for the day."

"Why didn't you go?"

Hermione held up her tome of a book as an explanation.

"Oh, of course," agreed George. "Yes, I certainly couldn't live a day without a helping of…" he squinted "…_Magical Tree-frogs of the Amazon: Fact or Fiction?_ by Roland Greek."

She frowned a little at him. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Oh, no! No-no-no." George barked a loud laugh that made Hermione visibly jump and nearly scared him. "Hah, _no_. Not making fun of you, no…I really can't remember life before that book. Yeah…_wow_." He laughed again, lightly and nervously ran his hand through his hair.

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously but seemed to accept his absurdly anxious and hasty assurance of sincerity, because she turned her book back open to the page she had been on when he'd come downstairs, and began reading once more.

George sat in silent agony for a moment, wondering frantically what to speak to her about. Apparently the girl enjoyed discussing the dubious existence of tree-frogs, and unfortunately George had exhausted all of his knowledge on that subject (none at all). He cast a glance around the room for conversation possibilities, and his eyes fell upon a book sitting next to Hermione, presumably to be read after she finished her other pleasure reading. _The Dark Arts Outsmarted_, it read, by Bellerophon Biggs.

_Well, I have a __little__ more experience in that area,_ George thought optimistically.

"Going to read that one next?" he asked, nodding toward the book.

Hermione glanced briefly up at him. "Yes," she said into her book. "I thought we might need it."

George was struck by the seriousness of Hermione's reading that book. There was silence between them. Then George, in true Weasley twin fashion, said: "Good. Maybe when you're done with the tree-frogs, we could use that one to prop up the kitchen table, eh?"

Hermione glared at him. He smiled cheerily back at her. Finally she shook her head and smiled. "You're so pleased with yourself."

George laughed. "Well, I'm just doing my duty," he explained. At Hermione's puzzled glance, he continued, "As a Weasley twin. We take a solemn vow, you know, at birth."

She raised an eyebrow. "Vow of what?"

"A vow of comedy, of course," he said naturally. "And what better time to have the Weasley twins around than during such a time as this? You see, Fr—George, I mean—still get mixed up, sometimes, you know—and I find it our job to keep the Wizarding World in the ol' proverbial stitches in times of despair."

"Oh, do you?"

"Oh, indeed!" George averred.

"Give me an instance."

George put his hand to his chin and stroked thoughtfully. Finally he snapped his fingers. "U-No-Poo. A great example," he said. "I'm sure you noted the clever wordplay."

Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I did note that _very_ clever rhyme job."

"Do I detect sarcasm?" He pretended to scrutinize her intensely.

"However did you notice?" she inquired, still employing that same comic instrument.

"All in a day's work, ma'am," George replied, pretending to buff his nails on his shirt. "Now, there's a rumor going round that you're rather a barmcake at wizard chess, and as soon as I heard that, I thought to meself, I says, 'It'd be rather fun to murder someone at that game!' It's for precisely that reason I sought you out this morning, m'lady. Interested?"

For a brief moment, George wondered if he had overwhelmed his listener with the veritable supernova of Weasley charm, but to his delight and relief, Hermione shut her book and stood.

"You're on, Fred Weasley. Although I warn you, I will not be murdered lightly."

George looked at her pityingly. "Hermione, my dear, not many are."

They quickly got out the chessboard and set up their pieces, George noticing with satisfaction that Hermione had to glance at his setup before setting hers to mirror it. Finally they were ready to play, and because George had so graciously allowed Hermione the white set, she went first.

From the start, it was clear who would win, but to Hermione's credit (or rather to what anyone acquainted with her would expect), she refused to admit defeat.

"You're a rather valiant adversary, Miss Granger," George remarked, as his bishop violently beheaded her knight, "but not quite up to snuff."

"All part of my plan to lull you into a false sense of security," she declared, moving her queen directly into a prong of the fork George's knight formed with Hermione's queen and rook.

George kindly—though realizing Hermione was oblivious to it—took her castle instead and decided to change the subject from her imminent doom to something more lighthearted.

"So, just why is there such sexual tension between my ickle baby sister and Harry 'Chosen One' Potter?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow in what George could see was quickly becoming her all-purpose reaction to him. Then she sighed. "Unfortunately, I can't pretend to not know what you're talking about. They're not the most subtle people, are they?"

"As subtle as two not-so-subtle things," George agreed, "a.k.a. you and young Ronald in a row."

"_Don't_ get me started," she warned, moving her queen once again without looking thoroughly enough.

"We always seem to get round to Ron, don't we?" he observed. "Check."

"What?"

"Your king." George gestured to her white king, who was shaking in his boots at the sight of George's looming bishop.

"Oh." After a moment, Hermione chose a spot to evacuate her king. "And I don't know how you can say _we_ always get round to Ron," she continued, "when _you're_ the one who brings him up."

"Touché." He advanced his queen. "But I'm only trying to understand this mind-boggling relationship you have with my dear old flesh-an'-blood. You seem to think quite highly of him."

"At times," she allowed grudgingly, watching with dismay as George's queen claimed her second rook. "He's a constant disappointment to me."

"Do tell," he urged.

She grimaced, remembering some particularly distasteful incident. "There's nothing to tell," she said, rather unconvincingly. "Just when I think we can get along, he says something to set me off."

"It must be accidentally, though."

"He knows." She shook her head and sighed. "We're too close for him not to know."

"Well, you know, Hermione," George began, looking her earnestly in the eye, "the Weasley boys… not me and George, of course, but all the others… not the _most_ girl-savvy of young men. Look at Percy. He's out kissing Fudge's bum when he could be using the Weasley charm for his own sexual good. Ron is a prime example of this blundering. The only brother we're proud of on the female front is Bill. Snagging Fleur? Yowza!"

At Hermione's angry look, he coughed and controlled himself. "My point is, fair Hermione, young Ronald has not yet come into his own as a Weasley man. As such, you can't expect much from him by way of relationships."

Hermione's eyes flashed. "_Excuse_ me? What makes you think I would want a _relationship_ with that prat?"

George nodded, unfazed by her fury. "That's the right attitude, ol' bean. Keep repeating that line." He moved his queen. "Check."

She angrily moved her king out of the way. "I would _never_—! With that _boy_—! How could you assume—!?"

He pursued her king with his queen once again and said, "Then why not go for… someone else?"

The air changed. It no longer sparked with anger but with… _something_. A mixture of hope and confusion and proposition that George had never felt before between him and a girl, not to this extent. It had suddenly gone utterly quiet. He unconsciously leaned forward in his seat, watching the thoughts churn behind her eyes.

"What are you saying?" she whispered.

"Me, Hermione," George answered, hushed.

Hermione's brown eyes were wide as George stood from his seat and leaned across the table, nearing the lips that just a moment ago were grimacing in distaste. What was really only a few seconds seemed like an eon—and then they kissed—and suddenly George forgot he was supposed to be Fred, forgot everything except the rhythm of kissing Hermione, who was so deliciously beautiful beyond anyone he'd ever seen.

He flashed back to his first kiss, in fourth year. He and Alicia Spinnet had just returned from a triumphant Quidditch match. Fortunately for George, he had been somewhat buzzed on butterbeer—not enough to completely dull the fear of a pretty girl like Alicia, but sufficient to prevent fainting. She had pulled him to a corner of the common room, one that George now realized was known as a make-out spot, although at the time he'd been too confused to understand.

"Congratulations, Mr. Weasley," Alicia had said huskily, stroking his bicep in a way that had sent good and bad shivers down George's spine.

"Congratuuuulations to youuu, Miss Alicia!" George had crowed back.

Then Alicia had leaned up toward him, and she had been within inches of his face before George had realized what she planned to do. "W-what are you doin'?" he asked shakily, drawing back.

"Relax, George. I'm not going to bite you," she reassured him. She paused thoughtfully and said mischievously, "Well, maybe a little."

George's mind lurched back to the present. Kissing Hermione was nothing like kissing Alicia. _Well, other than the fact that it's kissing,_ he admitted. But where Alicia had always been quick and forceful, Hermione's kiss grew slowly, from soft and tender to stronger. It crescendoed like music, and George lost himself.

Finally they parted with the wet sound that marked the end of such a time of bliss George had never known before. He opened his eyes lethargically and saw that Hermione's, too, were half-lidded with contentment.

George, in a moment of true incongruity, glanced down at the chessboard. He smiled back at her.

"Checkmate."

- - - - - - - - -

**Tempest:** So yeah. It's been over a year. I'm not dead! It's true. But I can't think of much to say in this, other than that I hope I won't slack quite so much and get this out before the seventh book is released (oh so excited!).

Here are the standings:

Fred: 17 (36.17 percent)

George: 30 (63.83 percent)

And to **Some Random Reviewer, Randomisation, mrs sexxidracomalfoy, Close2MiiHeart, Meow-Mix-91, Classiest Mokuren, fallen-dreamz, Amber Moons, Lady Emily, Smiles28, Tara-Yo, SilentConfession, Elisha, OBsgurl2134, jsas, Christine, Kira Temeki, Lorelai the Coffee Slayer, Kumara and Bacon, purplecrazy2291, Carin, Kocopo, scowlingpixie, KnifeThrowaStarr, livetoeat06, OtherwiseKnownAsOli, Liliana, JustAGirl101, Green Animelover, Winged Peach, Dustbunny3, Girlie1885, **and **Playing With Matches,** thank you for reviewing! Come back and do more! Review, review, review!


	8. Honey & Lemon

**Doublemint Gum**

By Tempest Break

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything in this one, basically… Also, everything is completely AU now that _Deathly Hallows_ has come out, so enjoy a George with both ears and a Ron without his book on seducing girls.

- - - - - - - - -

**Chapter Eight: Honey & Lemon**

George, after a restless night, awoke quite late in the morning to the sound of chirping birds outside of his window. He opened his bleary eyes and glared at them as best he could, hoping to convey the exact amount of loathing he felt for those flitting noisemakers at just that moment. Unfortunately, the little birds seemed unaware of his agony and continued their song, while George grudgingly blinked and rubbed at his eyes to continue the journey into the daylight hours.

The previous night had been restless, of course, because George had been haunted by visions of the utmost horror — the Kiss (which George imagined in capital letters) with the fair Hermione.

This Kiss had, quite frankly, nearly scared the pants off him, once he'd come to his senses and realized what he'd done. Fortunately, the white flash of terror had been cut short by the return of Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley, a new urn in hand, from Diagon Alley. A normal dinner had followed, in which Ron and Ginny had bickered so much over the Chudley Cannons that no one had noticed George and Hermione's silence. George had gone to bed that night without so much as a word with his Kisser.

George's thoughts moved on from that terrifying Kiss to the Grand Master Plan, which George hadn't thought of for so long that he'd nearly forgotten the name and its three parts. Fred would be so proud of him – and young Ronald would certainly turn the color of his hair if he knew.

_It's mad,_ thought George, folding his hands behind his head. _She's ensnared Fred __and__ Ron, but, ironically, neither of them has kissed her – I have. _He smirked. _I must be a pretty cool guy._

Finally he stood from his bed – although it was actually Fred's, with the blue rather than green sheets – and shuffled over to the bathroom connecting the twins' and Percy's rooms to brush his teeth. He began scrubbing and had just spat toothpaste into the basin when there was a knock at the door.

_Perhaps 'tis the fair Hermione, come to continue the snogging sesh,_ he thought both hopefully and apprehensively. He scuffled to the door, trying to devise something dashing to say to his favorite chess opponent.

The knocking came again, more insistent this time. George was certain he could sense attitude behind it.

"Hold your snow-white horses, my lady," he called, still mulling over the best greeting when he answered the knocking.

"Open the door!"

_Huh,_ thought George. _Bloom off rose._ But he hurried to acquiesce.

As the door swung open, however, it was not Hermione who was revealed, but Ginny. She stood there with ill-disguised fury and suspicion blazing on her face.

"Why, Ginevra," said George, toothbrush still hanging from his mouth. "I wasn't expecting you so soon for tea. Hang on, I'll retrieve the crumpets."

"Save it, _George_," she hissed between clenched teeth. She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her before whirling on her brother, pointing an accusing finger at his Adam's apple. "Just _who_ do you think you're fooling?"

George rather successfully covered his surprise by halfheartedly scrubbing his teeth. "I think you mean 'whom'. Just _whom_ do I think I'm fooling."

Ginny very nearly launched herself at George in rage. "I don't _care_ about the_ grammar_!" she growled. "I want to know what you and Fred are up to and why you're masquerading as him!"

"Why, whatever do you mean?" he asked.

"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes. "If you're going to pretend to be one another, at least have Fred conceal that troll-sized freckle on his earlobe. It's practically a neon sign." She quickly returned to her accusatory pointing. "Now tell me just what you mean by switching places on all of us?"

Turning to replace his toothbrush in its proper slot by the mirror bought George precious time in deciding how to handle Ginny's discovery of their charade. Clearly, Fred hadn't counted on Ginny or the others visiting Diagon Alley during the plan. He quickly decided that the "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about" strategy would be lost on a girl so sharp and suspicious as Ginny Weasley, and he guessed that the "Fred and I switched bodies" story would probably go the same way.

Finally resolving that the truth with a good helping of lies would be his best bet, he turned back to his younger sister, who seemed none the less furious for the time taken away from the conversation.

"Well?" she asked expectantly. "What crock of bubotuber pus have you got cooked up for me now?"

George sighed, dramatically slumping his shoulders and returning to his bedroom. "No pus this time, Gin," he said. "You're right. Fred and I switched places. We thought it'd be a lark to see how long we could go without someone noticing."

Ginny only narrowed her eyes at him warily.

"It's the truth," he insisted. "And we'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone."

Her lips tightened to a thin line. "And what makes you think I'll go along with _that_ plan?" she asked.

"Well, I mean, _your_ finding out doesn't really count," George replied. "We figured you'd realize it rather sooner than later. You're the brightest in the fam, after all, Gin – well, you or Mum, to whom you bear a striking resemblance this morning, might I add."

"Oh, don't try _that_ on _me_, George Weasley," Ginny snorted, ignoring his comment about their mother. "You know very well I won't fall for that, not after sixteen years of living in the same house as you twins…" Then she sighed and crossed her arms, staring up at the ceiling. "But I guess I'll keep your secret. I've never been one to tattle."

George bowed graciously. "I thank you kindly, fair maid," he replied. "Now, if you'll allow me to slip into something less comfortable…"

He quickly ushered her to the door, eager to be rid of her before she could change her mind. Just as George was closing the door with finality, Ginny leaned in close to the sliver still open and whispered: "Just… don't do anything too awful. Promise?"

George smiled. "I promise. Now go engage in some optical lovemaking with young Mr. Potter."

"What – ?"

But the door had already shut, blocking Ginny from seeing something that would likely make the hair on the back of her neck stand on end: George uncrossing his fingers.

- - - - -

Later that day, after George had dressed and eaten breakfast – much later than everyone else in the house – he went in search of Hermione.

"It's just like I always said, but never meant," he said to himself as he checked the room Ginny and Hermione shared. "Face your fears."

However, Hermione was nowhere to be found in the Burrow, although he did uncover several items in his father's shed that his mother would probably not have been the happiest to see. He made a mental note to forget to tell her about them.

Finally George came round the side of the house and into the garden, which Harry and Ron had de-gnomed earlier in the week. Sitting there, on the wooden, vine-covered porch swing, was Hermione, with (surprisingly, for her) the same book as yesterday.

_Well, naturally,_ thought George. _Kind of interrupted her reading time, didn't I?_ And he began to saunter over to the brown-eyed witch, a smile that hid his true feelings of terror plastered on his face.

"Good morning, Hermione," he greeted as he swaggered up the stone path.

She looked up and – did George detect a hint of a blush on her face? – quickly turned back to her book. "Hello, Fred," she said to it.

"Aw, did you name the book after me?" George asked, seating himself next to her. The swing rocked and creaked lightly under their combined weight.

"No," she said, still not meeting his gaze.

_She's more scared than __I__ am!_ thought George gleefully.

"Well, then why don't you talk to someone who's actually named Ge – Fred?" he asked, mentally chastising himself: _It's not __quite__ so smooth when one stammers._

Fortunately, Hermione did not seem to catch the slight slip-up. Rather, she had seemed to find new resolve in facing him. She raised her face – which George, looking at it, acknowledged again as extremely attractive – and looked straight into his eyes.

"All right, then, Fred," she said. "Why don't you tell me something?"

"Ask away, fair Hermione."

"Just what is there between us?"

George stopped, mouth open, and stared at her. She looked back, her brown eyes almost challenging him to trivialize her question with a joke.

And, like a true Weasley twin, George couldn't resist a challenge.

"Well, I'd say we have a fair bit of air between us, Hermione," he said. "You know, oxygen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide – the usual. Of course, we could easily change that." He waggled an eyebrow at her.

"Ugh!" Hermione groaned, rising to her feet and slamming her book shut. "This is _just_ the kind of thing you _would_ do, Fred! Do me a favor and try to keep _ten feet_ of carbon dioxide between us from now on!" She turned on her heel and marched down the stone path away from him.

"Hey, wait!" George started after her, leaping out of the swing so quickly that it swung back and hit him behind the knees. He stumbled down the path, catching up to her just as they reached the house. "Hermione, wait!"

"I have nothing to say to you," she retorted.

"But – "

But George never had a chance to finish his new sentence, for his foot caught on a thin, green cord running across the path. He was sent flying – straight into Hermione, who, not deigning to look at him, had no time to avoid the hurtling Weasley. They both slammed into the side of the house, George's body pinning Hermione's.

"Ow!" cried Hermione.

"Yowch!" exclaimed George.

"Fred, get _off_!"

"I can't!"

Hermione struggled vainly against George's much more muscular body. "What do you mean, you can't?"

"The big green snake's trying to eat my foot!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Fred. That's a _hose_, not a snake. The most it could do is get your foot a little damp."

"Tell that to the snake!"

"_Hose!"_

"Hermione, I don't think loose women will help us here."

"Ha, very funny."

"What's so funny about being eaten alive?" George squirmed against her. "Ohhh, I can feel its jaw disconnecting!"

"Calm down – and _get off me!_"

Finally Hermione managed to shove George off and, despite his frantic efforts to kick the "snake" away, to free his foot from the garden hose.

"You see, Fred," she said, holding up the lifeless hose, "it's not even – "

"My hero!" cried George, throwing his arms around Hermione and, once again, pinning her against the wall.

"Fred!"

But "Fred" was too busy planting kisses of gratitude all over her face to pay attention to any protests she might put up. And to his delight – if there could be any delight more than having a foot relinquished from a twenty-five-foot snake – she didn't resist.

"Oh, Hermione, you've saved my foot – nay, my life!" he proclaimed. "I owe you a life debt, surely!"

"I told you, it's a hose, Fred," laughed Hermione.

"All right, then I owe you a hose, have it your way!"

"Oh, stop it." She finally succeeded in pushing him off her and met his blue eyes with her brown ones. Suddenly, though, everything was serious again; George's playful smile had disappeared.

"It – it really was just a garden hose," she stammered.

"Snake, hose, it could've been the Minister of Magic, for all I care," he replied. He paused, looking thoughtfully skyward. "That'd be weird, though…"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

George shook his head, clearing all thoughts of Rufus Scrimgeour's recent attack on his foot. "Never mind that. Hermione." He fixed her in his gaze again. "In all honesty, I don't know exactly what's between us, but far be it from me to put a stop to it – as if I wanted to, or could."

"Fred – " she began.

He put his hand to her lips. "Please don't be mad at me. I'm not as good at explaining as you are, but I do know one thing I _can_ do."

And he replaced his hand with his lips.

To his surprise, Hermione responded just as eagerly as he kissed her, pressing her against the wall, moving his lips against hers. Her hands clutched his shoulders, and his fingers twined in her hair. She let out a soft mewl of pain and pleasure as he lightly tugged at her curls, so much tamer now than they used to be. With a deep, throaty noise, George deepened the kiss –

– And abruptly pulled away as voices and footsteps came around the side of the house.

"Ah, there you are," said Ron, as he, Harry, and Ginny rounded the bend, broomsticks in hand. "We were just looking for you. Care to join us for some Quidditch?"

"Oh, um, all right," stuttered Hermione, absentmindedly smoothing her hair and avoiding looking at George.

"Fred?"

"No thanks, brother dearest," replied George, with a rather good attempt at nonchalance. "I think it's time for my shower, actually."

"Oh, I wouldn't," said Ron. "Ginny used up all the hot water."

"Just as well," George replied. "Toodle-pip." And with that, he hastily made his way, hand in his pants pocket, from the group.

George made it all the way up the stairs to his room before he could remove his hand, and when he got there, to his surprise, he found Fred's giant eagle owl perched, letter in tow, just inside the window.

"Hello, there," he said, heading over to the owl and undoing the string that tied the envelope to its leg. "What news from my lesser half?"

The owl only screeched in reply and flew off through the window, indicating that Fred hadn't expected an answer for this letter. George wondered just what it could be and hastily tore open the envelope to read:

_Dear Lesser Half,_

"How's that for twinly connection?" George muttered.

_The unspeakable has happened. No, the store hasn't been shut down. No, I haven't come to my more generous senses and done away with myself, as a favor to all less-attractive wizards (i.e. all wizards). And no, Lucius Malfoy hasn't stopped by, wearing a pretty pink tutu and ballet slippers. This is even unspeakabler than that._

_I, Fred Weasley, being of (nearly) sound mind and body, have fallen head over heels for a girl._

_Oh, I know what you'll say. "Fred, how could you allow your bachelor self to be tied down? How could you give up the single life of sin and revelry you lead?"_

_But, my dear pet, you cannot comprehend this girl. She's everything I've ever wanted and a bag of those Muggle crisps, the prawn cocktail flavor, which I've always wondered about. Why exactly they would make a shrimp-flavored martini is beyond me._

_All that aside, this girl is fantastic. She's funny, kind, beautiful (of course, what would you expect?), and undoubtedly willing to succumb to my charms. I'm hoping we could make this coming bash a double-wedding, in fact. She could give Fleur a run for her money. (Well, p'raps not, but not everyone can be me.)_

_Anyway, I hope to join you at the Burrow soon, my bride-to-be in tow. _

_Love (if there were any left for you),_

_Fred_

_P.S.: Just remembered. That whole Hermione, Grand-Master-Plan thing – you can stop pretending to be me. Abort, abort, and all that. Pip-pip! –Fred_

- - - - - - - - -

**Tempest:** Well, there you have it. Chapter Eight. Somewhat cliffy-hangery, wouldn't you say? I would, anyway. As for Fred's note about the prawn cocktail potato chips: Americans, it's true. The British version of Lays (called Walkers over there) has flavors like prawn cocktail and meat and cheese. Really, really strange. Anyway, time to answer some reviews, I suppose.

**Sweet Poison 373:** Don't worry, I've got all the chapters already named. They're usually semi-appropriate gum flavors (like Original for the first chapter and Hot Cinnamon for the one where he kisses her…). This one is called "Honey & Lemon" because it's sweet and sour (gohoho! So clever). **Lady Emily:** I'm glad to convert someone to a George fan. It certainly helped me in the seventh book…dunno what I would've done as a Fred fan. **Cecikun:** I absolutely loved your review. It reminded me a little of the twins, actually – or at least how I write them. **Adriana:** It always makes me happy to hear that my stories are some of the few good ones out there (I got that a lot for "Change of Heart", too). Thank you.

And to **Whitelight72, GuardianOfthebrokenhearted, x-Lazart-x, funkydevil206, ClassiestMokuren, soapoperastar, Prankster Born, Amber Moons, scowling pixie, kateg123, Kocopo, circles in the stream, -S3v3rusIsMin3-, Close2MiiHeart, PirateFanatic, aFigureOfSpeech, **and **aLittlelonely,** thanks for reviewing the last chapter. I hope you continue with this one!

And here is how the poll now stands:

Fred: 19 (33.33 percent)  
George: 37 (66.67 percent)

P.S.: To anyone who read "Change of Heart", I'm attempting to go back and redo some of the chapters to fit better with the canon (or at least, not so obviously awry). Check it out if you want.


	9. Cinnamon Inferno

**Doublemint Gum**

By Tempest Break

**Disclaimer:** Keep in mind, folks, these are not my characters. Keep in mind that this is also completely AU by now.

- - - - - - - - -

**Chapter Nine: Cinnamon Inferno**

George sat back on his bed in disbelief. He reread the letter again and again, hoping for any excuse to take it as a complete joke. There was none.

He reached for a scrap of parchment and a quill to send a response letter, hoping to at least gain some clarification from Fred before he "aborted," as his brother had told him. Before he had even penned the first word, however, the eagle owl hopped to the window ledge again and took off with a flap of his great wings.

George grimly watched it wing away. "Not so much as a hoot goodbye," he muttered. He took another look at the dread letter before tearing it apart and tossing it in the can. "Might as well take that shower, although the cold water will be totally unnecessary by now."

He closed the bathroom door behind him and began to undress. His mind went over the letter once more.

It would not have been such a blow, George reasoned, had he not already become so damn fond of kissing the fair Hermione. When had that happened?

"Somewhere between that chess game and pressing her up against the wall today, I suppose," he said aloud. He looked down. "Aaand would you look at that? Now we'll be needing that cold water again. Awfully nice to be nineteen and single…"

He stepped into the shower and shuddered when the cold spray hit his back. It felt as though his mind burst through the fog of the past few minutes. He was finally thinking clearly again. Yes, he had agreed to this purely because of Fred's sudden infatuation with Hermione, but he had to admit that he'd suddenly found himself somewhat infatuated with her himself. So what was the use of listening to Fred and stopping all of the wonderful kissing they'd been doing recently?

"Well, except for the fact that she thinks I _am _Fred, of course," George mused wryly. "There's the rub."

Despite the obvious pleasure that Hermione also took in their kissing, George feared for his life if she should discover that he was not actually Fred. In that case, the question of whether or not the kissing would continue would be the least of his worries. And Fred had definitely said that soon he would arrive at the Burrow with the so-called girl of his dreams; George had focused most on that part of the letter during the many times he had read it. The fact of Fred's imminent arrival was the main reason he could not possibly continue the charade. Even if he wanted to still be Fred, said twin's return to the house would inevitably put an end to that some time soon.

He sighed as he turned off the water. He stepped out and looked into the cracked and steamed-up mirror.

"No real point to showering, really," he said to his reflection. "It's execution day."

As he was toweling off, he heard a knock at his bedroom door. "One moment, please!" He wrapped the towel around his waist, knocked some water out of his ears as he crossed the room, and opened the door, expecting to see Ginny or at the very least Ron.

Instead, he found Hermione.

She was biting her lip and twisting her hands at her waist when he opened the door, but her face immediately flushed with surprise when she saw that he was wearing nothing but a towel.

George suddenly regretted that he had let his Quidditch physique lose tone. And he was always so pale and freckly. It was no use even trying to get a tan; he would just burn. He found himself blushing, too.

"Er, well… Can I help you?" he asked.

"Oh! Yes. Yes, well…" She couldn't meet his eyes. "I was wondering if I could talk to you, but I didn't realize that you weren't, uh…" She tried to avoid looking at his towel.

George laughed nervously. "Well, I just got out of the shower. But, uh, you can come in. Come in." He stepped out of the doorway to let her pass, which she did haltingly. She went to sit on George's – not George-as-Fred's – bed.

"I'm just going to throw some shorts on, all right?"

"Oh, please do."

George grabbed some from his dresser and changed in the bathroom. He came back out and sat on the other bed, facing Hermione. "So."

"So?"

He looked at her. "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

She seemed to suddenly remember why she'd come into the room. "Oh, yeah. Sorry, I just was… flustered, I guess. Didn't mean to walk in on you like that."

"It's quite all right, my dear," he reassured her. "Now get on with it, or I will have to assume that you came in on purpose so as to see me in the nude."

She blushed again. "Well, okay, then. I wanted to talk to you about the, um, things that have been going on lately… between us. Feelings, kissing…"

He sat back when he heard this. Her saying "feelings" suggested that perhaps she was succumbing to his charms as he was hers. His heart beat faster. Then his gaze fell on the letter from Fred, and his blood ran cold.

"Actually, I have something to talk about, too," he said slowly.

"Oh, well, go ahead, then."

"Oh, no, no. You go." _I'd rather hear all the nice things she has to say before she doesn't want to say them anymore_.

"All right, then." She sighed and seemed to call upon all of her courage. "I just wanted to say that… Well, this has been, um, somewhat strange for me, I guess, because… It's a little strange to say this to you, but I've always kind of had a thing for Ron, and I also kind of figured that those feelings were returned, and I thought that, what with the battle with He Who Must Not Be Named coming closer all the time, we would get together soon."

"Ron, feelings for you? No!"

The side of her mouth quirked up in a smile.

"Well, this is the first I've heard of it. Go on, please."

"All right," she said, still smiling faintly. "But I mean, I kind of thought everything would work out with Ron. Unfortunately, he doesn't really seem to be thinking the same way, and we just keep getting into stupid fights about nothing. Meanwhile, you are… here."

He looked at her for a moment in the silence. "That's not really much of a reason, Hermione."

"I know, I know, I was getting to the reasons." She took a breath again. "What I meant to say was that you're here and you're sweet and nice to me and we haven't gotten into any fights. Well, I mean, the fights we've gotten into have been my fault, which I don't really count as fights. Plus – " she blushed " – you're quite a good kisser."

George flushed warmly. "Well, thanks," he said offhandedly. "I've had a lot of experience."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh! I mean, no! I've had no experience."

She raised both eyebrows.

"I mean. Yes. Of course I've had experience. But no more than is normal for a man of my stature. I haven't been with a lot of girls in that way or anything. I mean, most of the experience is with, um, my hand."

She laughed at that.

"But not in a sexual way! No, not like I – do that – a lot. What I mean is, I kiss my hand every night when I cry and wish you were next to me, Hermione my darling." He smiled, and she laughed. "Now please continue with what you were saying. All the nice things. Say them."

She laughed more and said, "Well, this is kind of what I mean, though. I feel at ease around you. You can make me laugh. I mean, Ron can make me laugh, too, but usually he immediately negates that by saying something completely stupid."

"He does have quite a talent for talking rot."

"Yes. So I guess what I'm trying to say is… I like you, and I'm willing to see where this is going with the two of us, if you are."

George found himself smiling at her. "I'd like that."

She grinned in relief and put a hand on her chest. "Oh, that's wonderful. I was so worried coming up here that you would just make a joke out of it."

"A joke? Moi?" He looked at her in disbelief.

"I know. What was I thinking?" She chuckled.

"Who knows," he said. "Now, um, if you wouldn't mind, because you said that I was good at it and all, could I kiss you?"

She blushed and smiled. "Please do."

George crossed the room to stand in front of Hermione. He bent down, cupped her cheek in his hand, and leaned in. His lips touched hers softly, and he slowly drew away with a lazy smile on his face.

"Oh, that's right," she said suddenly. "What did _you_ have to say, Fred?"

George's smile froze. "Um… what?"

"You said you wanted to say something, too. What was it?"

His mind raced.

_What can I do? She just admitted she has feelings for me, or that she may soon have feelings for me, and I certainly have them for her. Fred said that I could stop pretending to be him, but it's note quite so easy anymore, is it? I can't just tell her that I'm not the man she thinks she's kissing. Although I would like the credit for being a good kisser… No, George, now's not the time! Your life hangs in the balance. And she will most certainly castrate you if you reveal your true identity. Fred would understand. He would do the same in my place. He would understand, and Hermione would not. She would definitely – not._

"Erm, nothing, Hermione," he said. "Just the same thing you had to say, really. Now can I kiss you again?"

She laughed. "You don't have to ask me every time, you know."

"I'll keep that in mind." He leaned back in and felt her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against hers. "I'll strike when you least expect it," he murmured.

She seemed about to respond but it came out as a moan when George drew his tongue across her lips. He tentatively touched her tongue with his, and her fingers clenched on the back of his neck. She moaned again and pulled him down on top of her.

"Hermione?"

"Oh, Fred!" She kissed him strongly again, working her tongue against his, drawing it into her mouth. Her arm snaked around his waist, and she ran her nails lightly along his back.

George was suddenly aware that he had never put on a shirt, and he realized that Hermione did not seem to care. _She really likes French kissing,_ he thought as she clutched at his shoulder. He wondered if it would be okay to touch her breasts. He so wanted to… He slowly moved his hand up her waist to the side of her breast. His thumb hovered over it and he could practically imagine the feel of it in his palm.

"Um, Fred?"

He jumped back as if he'd been burned. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong. It's just…" She looked pointedly at his shorts.

George knew what she was looking at. He had been pressing against her thigh quite obviously for almost the whole time they'd been making out. At least it had been obvious – almost painfully obvious – to him. She seemed to have just noticed.

"Well, what did you expect?" he laughed. "I mean, you're a pretty good kisser, too."

She giggled. "I'm sorry, I was just surprised. And flattered, I guess."

He shrugged. "Well, you ought to be."

"I think we should go downstairs now. Everyone's probably wondering what's up." She got up and straightened her clothes and hair. "Shall we?"

George sat down on the bed. "You, uh, you go ahead. I'll join you in just a minute."

She smiled and after a moment's hesitation pecked him on the lips. "See you soon, then." She closed the door behind her.

George flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. "Well," he said. "I'm still Fred."

- - - - - - - - -

**Tempest**: Long time no see, I know. Seriously, long time. I'm posting to apologize to everyone who read this story when it began, so many years ago (sadly). Most of those people have probably thrown their hands up in exasperation by now. But on the other hand, Story Alert exists for a reason. Since it is summer and I'm reading _Half-Blood Prince_ to prepare for seeing the movie in July, I've been more interested in Harry Potter stories. I thought I should finally try to finish this, so that's what I'm doing. This chapter was not really in the story outline. It was originally supposed to be longer. But I really wanted to post it right away so I stopped it here. And the name refers to the "Hot Cinnamon" chapter when they first kiss, and the making out is like an inferno compared to that…? I dunno, I just looked up gum flavors. :)

Review, review, review!


	10. Thin Ice

**Doublemint Gum**

By Tempest Break

**Disclaimer:** Keep in mind, folks, these are not my characters. Keep in mind that this is also completely non-canon by now.

- - - - - - - - -

**Chapter Ten: Thin Ice**

By the time George joined the rest of his family and Harry and Hermione downstairs, they had sat down to dinner. Immediately upon entering the room, he noticed Ron's dark demeanor casting a pall over the kitchen table.

"Well, what's all this, then?" asked George brightly as he sat down. He could not deny that despite Ron's foul mood, _he_ felt lighter than air. He tucked a napkin into his shirt collar. "Mum outdone herself again, I see. Ronnie, you've barely touched your soup. For shame."

Ron merely glowered at him.

"He's in one of his moods," said Ginny loudly, and took a bite of broccoli. Next to her, Harry shifted nervously in his seat. "PMS as usual."

"Ah, yes, of course. Pissy Man Syndrome. I know it well." George nodded knowingly, and Ginny sniggered.

"Never suffered from it myself, of course," he continued, "being of strong, sunshiney stock, but I've heard it's quite the killer. A mood-killer, that is." He shook his head sadly. "Yes, quite tragic the things Pissy Man Syndrome can cause. Can ruin entire meals, you know. I once heard tell of a man who missed out on a threesome – the good kind – from a sudden onset of PMS. Nope, no real cure for that one, I'm afraid – except, of course, love." He looked at the other members of the table and even felt confident enough to wink at Hermione. "I can only assume that you have lot have done something to set off this. And once again it becomes my job to fix it."

Harry looked bemused, and Ginny positively grinned at George's humor. Unfortunately, Hermione, he noticed with dismay, still looked apprehensive, as though she wished he would say no more.

He was in the full swing of things by now, however, his spirits flying higher than they had since coming to the Burrow. It was as if the stress of the charade had finally lifted. So what if he were masquerading as his twin? Surely everything would work out all right in the end. The undeniable Weasley charm had never yet failed him; why should it now? Why indeed?

"Now, Ronnie," said George. "Can you tell me what the mean people did to you? I am your older brother, I can beat them up for you. Unless it's Gin, of course, you know how she is…"

"Stop it, Fred," said Ron, his face turning red.

"Ah. Not a fan of the confiding. Very well. Our love is not based on trust, you see," he said to the rest of the table, "and therein lies its strength. Words of wisdom. Yes, actions speak louder than words – but not the words I've just said, those ones are quite strong, and you'd do well to remember them, write them down, even! – but nevertheless, actions speak louder than _most_ words, and therefore I shall demonstrate to you, Ronald, the brotherly love that I harbor for you." George spiritedly seized Ron's soupspoon and dipped it into his brother's bowl. "Now open wide – "

"Goddammit, Fred, don't patronize me!" Ron sent the spoon flying out of George's hand, and he strode out of the room in a rage.

For a second everyone sat in silence. George's good mood deflated into regret.

"Shall I go talk to him, then?" asked Harry, although he looked as though he'd rather do anything else.

"No, Harry," replied Hermione with a sigh. "It's me he's angry with. I suppose I'd better follow him."

"Yes, I think you'd better have," agreed Ginny. Hermione stood quickly and left the room.

"Er, don't think me immodest, but I thought he was rather miffed at yours truly," said George in confusion.

"You were just the icing on the cake, Fred," said Harry. He paused thoughtfully. "Although I suppose that's not the right metaphor."

"You're thinking of 'the straw that broke the camel's back'," said Ginny helpfully, "and you're quite right. Under normal circumstances, he probably wouldn't have reacted so, but he had already seemed angry with Hermione when we came down to dinner. The two of them were sitting here when Harry and I arrived."

"Well, I don't think it's right for Hermione to take all of the blame," George said. "I should go up there and help her."

"No, I don't think you ought to," said Ginny. "It really didn't seem like it was your fault at all."

"Well, in that case, I have a right to complain to him that he's treating me unfairly. Either way, I'm going up, too." George stood and left the room before Ginny could convince him otherwise. Ron had ruined his high spirits, and he would rather have them back as soon as possible. And if Ron was determined to get into a row with Hermione – well, that didn't sit very well with George, especially not in his newfound capacity as secret lover.

After checking the downstairs for signs of Ron and Hermione, George began to climb the stairs. "Getting warmer," he muttered as he heard raised voices from Ron's attic room. He squeezed up the steep, narrow staircase and knocked on the door. The voices immediately stopped. No one made a sound inside the room. Then he heard footsteps approaching, and Hermione opened the door.

"Fred," she said, surprised. "Um, I don't think – "

"Oh, please, let him in," said Ron sarcastically. "Romeo has come to save his Juliet."

"Actually, I think this would correspond to the part where Romeo tragically kills himself, thinking Juliet is dead," said George. "I can see I shouldn't have come."

"Can you, then? That's very sensitive, Fred. I'm astonished."

"Ron, please – "

"I think I've heard quite enough of you begging today, Hermione," he said coldly. " 'Oh, Fred! Fred!' Nearly made me sick in the hallway."

George's heart jumped a bit – Ron had heard them. "What were you doing listening at the door, anyway, Ron?" he asked just as coldly, seeing the ashamed blush on Hermione's face.

"Oh, ha! As if I wanted to hear what you two were doing in there. You seem to have forgotten you're in a rather small house. Not the kind of place you can carry on such sordid affairs and escape notice."

"Well, I don't see as it's any of your business, anyway." George thought this was a good point, but it only seemed to make Ron angrier.

"Not my business?" He threw his arms up in exasperation. "Oh, really, Fred? As though you and George haven't been teasing me over _her_" – he pointed an accusatory finger at Hermione – "for years! I thought you knew that – that – "

George looked at Hermione. She was staring at Ron in a mixture of horror, guilt, and expectation.

Ron seemed suddenly to lose all of the eloquence he'd gained from his outburst. His mouth kept trying to form words and failing. George thought he ought to be merciful and save him.

"You had six years, Ron, and you didn't do anything," he said gently, recalling Fred's words to him in St. Mungo's. "You've got to grab the bull by the horns sometimes. Otherwise the bull finds someone else."

When Ron met his gaze, it was with deep disappointment in his eyes. "You know, that is so _you_, Fred. Not even 'you and George;' just _you_." He shook his head angrily. "With George gone, I've been noticing your differences more and more, and let me tell you, George would never do this to me. He's a real brother, you know, a real mate. You're just… I'm sick of you, Fred. Just leave."

George stared at Ron, aghast. Had he really both defamed Fred's name and betrayed Ron's trust by the same action? By Ron's estimation, he, George, should not have been capable of such a crime. _I'm even worse than Fred is in Ron's mind_, he thought. _I've let down two of my brothers._

"Ron, that's not fair," Hermione protested, stepping forward. "It's not his fault. _I'm_ the one who – "

"Then you can leave, too," said Ron wearily. "I'd like to be alone now for a while." He sat down on his mattress and put his face in his hands.

George and Hermione looked at each other sideways for a moment and decided to respect Ron's wishes. They both left and closed the door behind them.

As they descended the steps, George felt his spirits from just an hour previous deflate even more. How could he have chosen to ignore Ron's feelings? Ron was right – he had always known that there was something going on between Ron and Hermione, and he had just sugarcoated the issue in his mind. He wanted to blame Fred for it – after all, _he_ was the one who had come up with the "Grand Master Plan" in the first place – but he found he couldn't. He felt guilty on that account, too; because of his portrayal of Fred, Ron now thought only ill things of him. Fred would return to find himself loathed by his younger brother and still tied to a girl he no longer wanted, because George was too cowardly to reveal the truth.

_I'm really the evil twin,_ thought George darkly. _All along I thought it was both of us._

"Do you think I ought to tell Harry?" Hermione asked softly.

George started. He'd forgotten she was even there. "Er, tell him what?"

"You know, to go upstairs to comfort Ron. Normally I would, but I don't know if Ron really wants any comfort right now."

He shrugged. He had thought he was in tune enough with Ron, but now he felt guilty making any decisions on his feelings. He realized that Hermione actually expected an answer and said: "Tell him. He can at least check in on Ron, to make sure he's all right, and if Ron chucks a shoe at him, then he'll know to skedaddle."

Hermione smiled weakly at the joke. "Well, I suppose he and Ginny won't be at dinner anymore. I wonder where – "

But as they passed the door to the room Ginny and Hermione shared, it became obvious where the other two were. In fact, it seemed as though one of them was pressed soundly against the door; it was shaking noticeably.

"If only we could have switched times with them," said George, "none of this would have happened."

She giggled. "Well, Harry seems much too preoccupied to be bothered right now. And of course my book is in there, so I won't be receiving any comfort, either."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Comfort from a book? Hermione, you act as though they were people."

"Books _are_ people, Fred," she answered gravely.

He smiled at her. "I may not be as much comfort as a book, but would you fancy a walk around the garden? It's rather pleasant on a summer night, and I could use some comfort, too, I suppose."

"All right, that sounds nice. We'll just have to stay out of sight of Ron's window. I'd rather he take this time to cool off than we take it to make him angrier."

"Agreed."

George held the front door open for Hermione, and she thanked him as she passed through. The evening air was cool and felt good after the stressful argument with Ron. George felt his heart lift a bit at the sight of the sun falling below the horizon, sending its last few rays of red light toward him and Hermione as they strolled in pensive silence.

"What do you think we should do?" she asked eventually in a quiet voice.

He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I don't know if there's anything we _can_ do, really, except wait to see how he feels," he said. "It's awful to admit, but I was so caught up in everything with you that I hadn't really considered Ron's feelings on the thing. I _am_ a pretty horrible brother, aren't I?"

"Oh, Fred, don't say that. You know he didn't mean it."

"The problem is I know he _did_ mean it."

"Well, perhaps at the time he did, yes," she conceded. "But saying something in the heat of an argument is quite different from really meaning it. He probably feels terrible having said it. Probably one of the reasons he's so upset is that he knows the things he said were unfair and hurtful. At least, that's how I feel whenever we fight."

He smiled ruefully. "Sounds like you know Ron pretty well, Hermione."

She paused. "You could say that I feel a kindred spirit in him."

"Another good word for that is 'soul-mate'," he said gently. She was silent. "Hermione, I don't want to get in the way of you and Ron. I'll step back if you're, you know, in love with him."

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary." Her eyes were watering when she finally looked up at him. "I already told you, Fred: I like you. I still want to give this a shot if you do."

"I still do, too, Hermione," said George hesitantly, "but to be honest, I feel terrible about the whole Ron thing. I mean, I really am a horrible brother" – he held up a hand to stop her protesting – "and you shouldn't say otherwise until you've heard everything I have to say.

"First of all, Ron is right, here. I mean, statistically he'd _have_ to be right at least once in his life, right? Ha, ha, not funny, I know, I'm trying to be serious right now… Anyway, Ron is right, at least I think he's right, because he's my little brother, and as much as Fr—George and I tease him, we want what's best for him, and let's face it, _you_ may be what's best for him and I'm keeping you away. Any way you slice it, that doesn't make for an upstanding big brother."

"But what about what _I_ want?" Hermione put in. "I already told you that I want to continue things with you. You can't just decide to shuttle me back to Ron. It doesn't work that way. I have my rights."

George looked at her impatiently. "Hermione, if you're going to be totally rational, then I can't argue with you."

She grinned. "Well, I'm afraid that's one of my flaws. Rationality. Also perfectionism and good looks. And I'm the most modest person in the entire world."

"Now that sounds like some good old Weasley humor right there," George said happily. "You've been under my bad influence far too long."

"Do you mind if I stick around for a little longer, then?" she asked.

"I suppose I could get used to it."

She smiled. "So you said, 'First of all…' Was there a second of all?"

George stared at her. The "second of all" was going to be admitting to her everything about the Grand Master Plan and revealing his true identity. This was what would really prove his point that he was a horrible older brother and would probably get him castrated on the spot. He wanted desperately to just tell her that it was nothing and move on with the inevitable kissing that would soon follow, but he couldn't in good conscience let it go. He took a big breath and began:

"Second of all – "

A sudden sharp _CRACK!_ made them jump away from each other. They both swung around toward the source of the Apparition whiplash and saw the shape of a wizard walking quickly toward the Burrow, his head down, and muttering to himself. George's heart sank into his stomach was he realized who it was.

"Why, look, it's George," said Hermione.

"Why, yes, it _is_ George."

Fred strode closer to George and Hermione, still unaware of their presence in the darkened garden. He was talking quickly to himself and seemed utterly absorbed in his thoughts.

"Were we expecting him?"

"Not quite so soon, actually," he answered through gritted teeth. "Hallo there, _George_!"

Fred's head snapped up and he immediately saw the two of them standing there. He looked at them in confusion. "Er, hello. What're you two doing out here?"

"Just enjoying the fresh air, _George_," continued the real George with a crazed smile on his face. He felt Hermione looking up at him weirdly. "It's awfully nice on a summer night, isn't it, _George_?"

For a few moments, his heart sank even further in his body, down to his liver or his small intestine, he was sure. Fred stared at him. Hermione stared at him. He was sure that the crickets had stopped chirping to stare at him. It was utterly silent except for the echoes of his last, strained "_George_" in his head.

Finally, Fred grinned. "Well, yes, of course, I find that to be true, too, Fred. You know what they say about great minds, however, so is it any surprise to you? Ha, ha, ha!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" George laughed in relief at the absurdly bad joke.

He and Fred continued laughing far longer than anyone should have, until Hermione finally took a step back from them as though afraid for her life.

"I think I'll head inside," she said politely. "It was awfully nice talking to you, Fred, and I'll see you in the morning, George. Good night." She waved lightly as she turned to walk back in the house.

Upon the door's closing, the laughter instantly stopped. Fred whirled upon George.

"What in the hell was that all about?"

- - - - - - - - -

**Tempest:** Hey, all! Well, I have felt the need to write, so I thought to myself, "Why not actually try to finish this story while I still feel like it and have the time?" So that's what I'm trying to do. Should be only two more chapters after this, actually, so not long at all. I finished my rereading of HBP (for the movie) and am now reading _Catch-22_, but after I finish that I will start again on _Deathly Hallows_ to keep my interest up. Reviewing also keeps my interest up, so if all the people who Story Alert this story would review, that would be awesome. Now to answer some reviews, because the last time I updated I was too lazy to do so.

**Close2MiiHeart:** This was a long time ago that you reviewed, right after DH came out, but my thinking about the spoilers thing was that most people who don't want to have the story spoiled wouldn't go on before finishing the book. I think a lot of people learned from OotP and HBP all the horrible things that can happen!

**Sakura182:** I'm glad you decided to give my story a shot, even though you're usually for Fred/Hermione!

**Scowlingpixie:** I know. I always tell my readers to review but I never review the stories I read, either. I guess I ought to practice what I preach, huh? Well, I'm glad you reviewed mine anyway!

**Victoria Humblydum:** I'm taking your advice and finishing it! I hope it will still be good when it's all done.

**Bookworm-4-ever2012:** Umm, how about like two years? *sheepish grin*

**environmentALY:** I reread your review just now about the "PMS"ing, and I was extremely amused! I hope you were too if you read this chapter.

**Modern Marauder-Miss RoseWings:** I'm very touched and flattered by your compliments on my writing and humor! It makes me very happy to hear that people think it's funny. I feel like it's not too hard to write well technically and grammatically, but it is hard to write humorously… So thank you!

And to **Nimeway, Green Animelover, Bubbles-ZeeCrzy1, ClassiestMokuren, worldsapart, legolover, MudBlood15, Amber Moons, Smiles28, Joanna Synclare, hpdork22, xAuburnx, Kitty, Kira Temeki, Rosie-Jess, lachina88, Candeeta4u, iMnOtReAlLYcRaZy, .dramiones, Blaulia, Deliriums Darkling, twilight-h.p.-maxride4ever, x-lee-x, ViperineVampire, Delilah Song,** and **Athena'sChild**: Thank you so much for reviewing, and I hope you continue to come back and do so again!

Review, review, review!


	11. Sugarless

**Doublemint Gum**

By Tempest Break

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything.

- - - - - - - - -

**Chapter Eleven: Sugarless**

Fred whirled upon George. "What in the hell was that all about?" he demanded. "Did you not get my last letter? I specifically asked you to stop being me."

"Yeah, I got it," said George.

"Did you read it?"

"Of course I read it."

Fred sighed. "Then I don't quite understand what's going on. You didn't listen to what I said?"

"That does appear to be the issue."

Fred stared at him.

"All right, an explanation. I can see you want an explanation." George ran a hand nervously through his hair. "The thing is, Fred, it's a little harder to stop than it was to start, you know? I guess you could say that the plan has been going quite well, with everything with Hermione, and to just reveal everything all at once… I mean, I feared for my wellbeing, and I would like to be able to have children someday. Carry on the family name."

"I seriously doubt the Weasley name is in danger of dying out," Fred returned dryly.

"Well, no, perhaps not. But you can understand, right?"

"Yeah, I can understand. Neither my heart nor my testicles are made of stone." He sighed. "You know, maybe it's better this way, after all. I'm back now, so we can make the transition seamlessly. We'll just say that you arrived tonight, and you can go back to being yourself, and I'll just pick up where you left off."

George stared at him. "'Pick up where I left off'?"

"Well, sure, with Hermione. That was the original plan, right?"

"Yeah, but I thought you canceled it in your last letter," George said. "You said all that stuff about falling in love with that other girl."

Fred's face immediately darkened. "Oh, that? Nah, I was just joking, you know me… In fact"—he grinned—"I bet you knew all along that I'd lose interest in her, didn't you, you rascal? That's the real reason you kept up with the whole charade. Bravo, bravo, my twin, you know me too well." He clapped him on the back. "Now, come on, let's head up to the house. Got to tell everyone that you've arrived, eh? Here, take your bags."

George took Fred's suitcase and followed his brother up the dirt path. His mind raced. He longed to explain to him what had happened that night: that Ron would probably be less than cordial to him for quite a long time, that it was he had defamed Fred's name nearly beyond salvation, and especially that the main reason he was hesitant to end the masquerade was that he did not want to have to give up everything with the fair Hermione.

Fred entered the house and looked around expectantly. "Mum! Ron, Ginny, Harry! George has come home!"

Later that night, when Fred had settled back in to his and George's room ("Wow, you even slept in my bed. _That_ is dedication."), and they had turned out the lights for the night, the two of them lay in their own beds.

George stared at the ceiling. His bed was cold, and the sheets were stiff from disuse. He felt strange in his own skin.

"So exactly how far have you gone with Hermione?" asked Fred. "I don't want to push my luck with her tomorrow."

George felt sick to his stomach at the idea of Fred with Hermione. "Erm, well, you know. Not much, really, she's very shy, conservative…" Hermione's gasps and moans from earlier that day echoed in his mind. He did not want Fred to have her make those sounds. "We've barely kissed at all."

"Oh, really?" Fred sounded disappointed. "So what does that mean? Like, kissing with a little tongue or just chaste kiss on the cheek?"

"Hmm, not even. Cheek is too close to mouth, you see. I _have_ kissed her on the forehead, though."

"Raunchy," Fred said sourly.

"Yeah, well, I get a very 'keep away' vibe from her. So just take it slow."

"I thought you said things had been going well with her."

"Oh, they have been. Does that not sound good to you?"

"Well, it's not quite what I was hoping for."

"Why? What would good progress have been to you? How far did you make it with that girl in your letter in a few days?"

Fred was silent. George heard him turn onto his side. "It's good to see you again, George. G'night."

He wondered what could possibly have happened with the girl to turn Fred's mood so instantly sour, but he was glad for that conversation to end. "…Night."

When George woke up in the morning, Fred was still sound asleep. He left the room as quietly as he could and went downstairs. It was earlier than he usually got up in the mornings, and the Burrow was quiet without Ron, Harry, or Ginny awake. He could hear his mum bustling about in the kitchen.

Hermione was reading in the living room when he passed through. She looked up and smiled. "Good morning, Fred," she said.

George smiled back. "Morning, Hermione." He started to talk toward her, but stopped. "Oh, and I'm George."

Her face fell a little. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought you were Fred."

"Yeah, well"—he grinned—"I get that a lot._ I_ don't see it, but…"

She smiled again at him. "Well, it's nice to have you here, George. We've never really gotten to know each other. I mean, I don't think I ever really gave you and Fred a chance because you were such rule-breakers at school, and I didn't really approve. But I've been getting to know Fred pretty well this past week." Her cheeks turned a very faint pink. "And I would like to get to know you, too, if that's all right."

George wanted to kiss her senseless. She was so sweet to want to get to know his twin because of everything that had gone on between them in the past few days. He was on the verge of throwing caution to the wind when Ron and Harry appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Good morning, Ron," Hermione stammered.

"Morning." Ron shot a dirty glance at George but then seemed to doubt himself. Now that both twins were at the Burrow, he wasn't sure if he was glaring at the right one.

"So that sounds good, Hermione," said George nonchalantly. "Now I'm going to get some breakfast. Care to join me? Ron, Harry?"

"Sure… George," said Ron tentatively, seeming to guess that Fred would not be so cavalier with him.

George led the three others into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was busily finishing breakfast. The frying pan was full of sizzling strips of bacon, and with a flick of her wand, Mrs. Weasley withdrew some glasses from the cupboard and filled them with orange juice. She sent them flying across the room onto the table.

"Good morning, you all," she said. "Are George and Ginny still asleep?"

"Ginny still is," said Hermione, "and it's Fred who's still asleep, actually. George is right here."

"Oh, sorry, George, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "It's so nice to have you back, by the way. It was so strange not to have both of you twins together. I hope you didn't stay up all night talking."

"Mum, we're not twelve, we didn't stay up talking. We braided each other's hair and made friendship bracelets."

Ginny trailed into the kitchen finally, still in her pajamas, like Ron and Harry. She yawned widely as she sat down next to Harry. "You guys just can't shut up in the mornings, can you?" she asked bitterly.

"Not morning people, the Weasley children," Harry commented.

"The younger they are, the harder it is to get them up," said Mrs. Weasley wryly. "The two on either side of you, Harry, are the worst of the lot."

"If someone would just give me a bloody cup of coffee, I'd perk right up," Ginny grumbled.

"Not with that language, young lady."

"Sorry, Mum. Could I _please_ have some _ever-so-wonderful_ coffee so as to begin spewing rainbows and prancing about as I normally do?" she deadpanned.

"That's better." Mrs. Weasley sent a mug of coffee whizzing through the air so quickly that it nearly spilled all over Ginny, who caught it at the last second.

"It probably would wake you up sooner if you'd let it fall," Harry joked. Ginny scowled at him over the mug.

"Perhaps a caffeinated cookie or cupcake would be something useful to add to our Skiving Snackboxes," George thought aloud.

"But that would be the opposite of skiving," said Ron. "People would have more reason to go to class if they were awake."

"You're right," George admitted. "We don't want to encourage such behavior."

Mrs. Weasley's face momentarily darkened at the mention of what was arguably her least favorite merchandise that Fred and George offered. She sent the skillet of bacon skidding across the table to Ginny. "How has work been this past week, dear?"

"Yes, George," said Ginny, her previously bleary eyes now gleaming. "How _has_ work been? Tell us, won't you?"

George glared at her. "I thought you were tired, Gin."

"Oh, but I am so, so interested in what has been going on in Diagon Alley. Remember when we visited you the other day? What was in that display that Ron knocked over, again?"

"Erm, I don't recall."

Ginny leaned in eagerly. "Oh, don't you? But you made such a big fuss out of it at the time, I was positive you would remember."

"People knock stuff over all the time, actually. To be honest, we kind of expect it now." George laughed nervously.

"But you must remember _something_ about our trip. I would love to hear what you remember from it."

"Give it a rest, Ginny," said Ron. "Merlin, you're weird in the mornings."

"I would just like to hear what George thought of our visiting him that time. What do you remember, George? What color was my jumper? What joke did you tell us that made us all crack up? You must remember _that_."

George could feel the sweat on the back of his neck. Ron seemed frustrated with Ginny's questioning, and Harry was confused, but Hermione stared at him in interest. She had not been in Diagon Alley that day, but she was sharp enough to pick up on Ginny's tone. Could she possibly put two and two together…?

At that moment, Fred Apparated into the kitchen.

"Rub a dub dub, it's time for some grub," he said happily, taking a seat next to Hermione. "You know, Mum, I don't say this enough, but your cooking is just fab. Really top notch. You really don't appreciate it until it's not there anymore."

Mrs. Weasley smiled, gratified. "Well, thank you, Fred. That's awfully sweet of you."

"And the company couldn't be better, either," said Fred, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder and looking around the table. "Wow, what's eating you, Ronald? Have some bacon. Shall I feed it to you?"

"I think we've been over this already, Fred," Ron said through gritted teeth. Harry and Hermione both stared at Fred, horrified. Fred looked back at them, surprised at their expressions and Ron's anger. Ginny, however, looked at George, an eyebrow raised.

"It seems as though something very interesting happened while you were away, George, that I didn't tell you about," said Fred loudly. "How could I have forgotten to tell you something that has so clearly affected our dear little brother, about whom I care very deeply?"

"Oh, no, I'm sure I'm not very interested—"

"I insist that I tell you about it. You are _very_ interested to know."

"Er, yes, all right," said George, "you'll tell me about it later, then."

"Oh, as soon as possible, I think." The two of them stared at each other over Hermione's head.

Harry whispered something to Ron, who replied loudly, "Because they're both barking mad. _That's_ why."

After breakfast, Fred motioned for George to follow him up the stairs to their room to explain himself. George dragged his feet, dreading the conversation that would follow. He tried to postpone it as long as he could by staying at the breakfast table; he even offered to wash the dishes by hand, but Mrs. Weasley only looked at him suspiciously and told him to get out.

As he was leaving the kitchen, however, he felt a tug on his sleeve. Things were looking up!

No, they weren't. It was Ginny. She glowered at him, although there was also a gleam of triumph in her eyes, and perhaps a little "I knew it all along"-ness in the quirk of her eyebrow.

"So, when exactly were you planning on telling everyone about what a grand joke you played and that it's been you all along?"

George grimaced at her. "Oh, any second, Gin. This is a triumphal moment, really," he said sarcastically.

If possible, she raised her eyebrow even higher, with even more self-satisfaction.

"Can you not look at me like that?" he asked. "I know I messed up this time. You don't need to rub it in."

"Yeah, you did mess up, and I _do _need to rub it in," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "You've got Ron angry at Fred, who, for the first time in his life, doesn't actually deserve it, and despite what Hermione says, I know there's been stuff going on between you two, but she thinks it's between her and the real Fred, and somehow I'm sure that _that_ was the real reason you did all of this in the first place. Were you two reading some sort of Greek play when you thought up this scheme?"

"You know about me and Hermione?"

"Oh, please. You're more obvious than me and The Boy Who Lived to Snog Me Loudly Every Chance He Gets."

"Ugh, spare me the details," said George, gagging. "You're still my little sister."

"Unfortunately," Ginny replied grimly. "And as such the burden falls on me to make sure you put things right. You need to explain everything to Ron and Fred and especially Hermione. I won't let you alone until you do it."

"It's not quite so easy, Gin. She'll murder me. You don't have all of your most vulnerable parts hanging from your body like an easily accessible piñata, or you would understand."

"Why does it always come down to genitalia with boys?" Ginny asked in exasperation. "Women have to go through menstrual cramps and childbirth. Did you ever think of that?"

"Well, I'm sure childbirth is painful," George conceded, "but what do you get out that? Babies. What do you get out of being hit in the nuts with a bat? Made fun of. Not even a trip to the hospital. No one ever says, 'Hey, I feel for you, mate.' It's just always, 'Wow, what an arse. I'm glad it wasn't me.' Not a thought for the future of his virility. You know, Gin," he sniffed, looking at her earnestly, "I long for the day when being terribly injured in a way that just happens to involve your testicles garners you just a shred of sympathy."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Look, this isn't George Weasley Therapy Hour. All I want is your word that you'll put everything right."

George sighed. "All right, I promise. But I hope you realize that this is exactly what I'm talking about."

There was a knock at the front door.

"Ginny, dear, could you get that?" Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen. "That's bound to be that Muggle woman Mrs. McNealy with her casserole recipe. Stall her while I finish up with the dishes, will you?"

"All right, Mum," Ginny shouted back. She looked back at George. "Now you do what I said, or else." She gave him a look that meant business before turning back to the front door.

George slowly resumed the walk up the stairs to his and Fred's room, but as soon as he reached the bottom step, Fred appeared at the top of the staircase.

"How long were you planning on keeping me?" he asked impatiently. "I've been waiting _years_."

"I was only talking to Ginny…"

Behind him, Ginny opened the door. "Erm, are you Mrs. McNealy?" he heard her ask.

"Well, Ginny can wait, can't she?" Fred said. "I'm your twin, after all, and you seem to have some—"

"Erm, no, I'm not," replied the voice at the door. "I'm actually looking for Fred Weasley. My name is Gaia Genetrix."

Fred's face drained of color. He stared over George's head, stricken.

George turned around, too, and could see from beyond Ginny the familiar wheat-gold hair of Fred's nurse at St. Mungo's.

"We just met in the past week," continued the girl at the door. "You must be his sister Ginny. You look so much alike, same brown eyes and everything…"

"Well, Gaia," said Ginny happily, "any friend of my brother's is certainly a friend of mine, especially one met so recently. Please, come in."

"Who's that at the door, Gin?"

Ron had asked the question. He and Harry appeared behind Fred at the top of the stairs, their broomsticks in hand and a Quaffle under Ron's arm. With a plummeting heart, George saw Hermione tentatively following the two of them with a book, evidently planning to read while they played.

Fred and George looked at each other frantically.

"Oh, it's no one important, Ron," Ginny replied evilly. "Just a friend of Fred and George's, come to seal their fate."

- - - - - - - - -

**Tempest:** Well, there you have it. Just one more chapter after this. By the way, I am shocked at how easy it is for me to write long chapters nowadays. It used to be a hassle just to write five or six pages, but this episode is over eight pages long. It could have been longer, but I wanted to wrap it up and post it before I lost momentum.

**Close2MiiHeart:** It's so nice to see you back to review again! I'm glad someone returned.

**Ash:** I appreciate that you made an exception for this story in your reviewing. Thanks so much for doing it!

And to **ilo3645, ViperineVampire, millies, Mrs. RxDJxBLestrange, bookworm-4-ever2012, Marsala,** and **vampgirl725**_: _Thanks so much for reviewing. Hardly anyone has any interest in such a non-mainstream pairing as Hermione/Weasley twin anymore, but I appreciate that you still reviewed!


	12. Ice Breaker

**Doublemint Gum**

By Tempest Break

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything.

- - - - - - - - -

**Chapter Twelve: Ice Breaker**

"Fred? Fred, is that you?" Gaia, looking at George, stepped tentatively into the house.

"Uh, n-no, I'm George," he said, shaking his head.

"Oh, that's right, the twin, of course. It's nice to see you again," said Gaia, smiling. "Where's Fred?"

George pointed up the stairs to where Fred stood motionless, staring down at Gaia. Behind him, Ron, Harry, and Hermione looked on with interest.

"Hi, Fred," said Gaia.

"Hi," Fred croaked. He was silent.

Gaia seemed to realize just how many people were staring at the two of them. She took a few steps farther into the Burrow. "Erm, how do you do?"

"What are you doing here?" Fred asked bluntly.

George wanted to smack himself on the forehead in vicarious embarrassment.

"I wanted to talk to you," said Gaia. "To apologize, really. I'm so sorry for the way I left things between us the other night, but I never expected you to disappear…"

She said all of this haltingly but bravely, considering the multitude of onlookers and the fact that Fred was staring at her in obvious horror. She leaned in and lowered her voice as though whispering in his ear. "Um, do you mind if we speak in private for a bit?"

"Oh, please, don't mind us," Ginny said loudly before Fred could answer. She crossed her arms over her chest obstinately and stayed where she was.

Gaia gave her an awkward smile. "Really, it's kind of private…"

"We're a close family."

"Really?" She blinked at Ginny. "Then I find it very strange that none of you except George visited Fred in St. Mungo's three days ago."

George turned to stare at Fred, whose face, if possible, had gone even paler.

"I hope you won't mind my saying so, Miss Genetrix," said Hermione quietly and, George detected, with a slight edge, "but I think you've got the wrong twin. Fred's been here at the Burrow for the past week." Ron and Harry nodded mutely beside her.

"It said 'Fred Weasley' on all of his documents," said Gaia assuredly. "He was in St. Mungo's for having one of his own patented multicolored, no-fizzle firecrackers dropped into his open mouth by a mischievous Hippogriff flying overhead."

George couldn't stop himself from smirking in amusement at Fred, who, despite his obvious desperation at Gaia's arrival, could not suppress a twinkle in his eye.

Ron, however, snorted. "You seem nice and all, lady, but you're about as loony as Gilderoy Lockhart."

Gaia pressed her lips together tightly. "Well, the story didn't quite seem to add up to me, either," she admitted. "But I _know_ it was Fred that I took care of."

"But you mistook George for Fred when you came in the door," Ron argued.

"Well, they _are_ twins, Ron," Harry pointed out. "It's not that hard to do."

"It's easy if you know them," Ron insisted petulantly. "Just look. Fred's got a freckle the size of France on the left side of his neck. You can see it from here. That's how I know it's been Fred here at the Burrow the whole time."

The same thought flashed through Fred and George's heads: they had forgotten to remove George's fake freckle. The first step of the Grand Master Plan had been utterly forgotten. They stared at each other, wide-eyed, panic etched in the lines of their faces.

"Then it was Fred at St. Mungo's," Gaia said. "I saw that freckle every time I came in with his meal. He pointed it out to me. He called it the _Fred_ckle."

Ron stared at her, as if unable to process this information. "But he was _here_…"

"And at St. Mungo's," Gaia insisted.

"But… but he was _here_…" repeated Ron.

"Fred was definitely here," Hermione agreed pensively. George could nearly see the wheels turning in her head.

"I think the real question," Ginny piped up, "is where _George_ was all this time."

As one, everyone looked at George. He smiled weakly and, he hoped, innocently at them.

"It seems to me," Ginny continued, "that George is the one who could explain all of this to us quite satisfactorily."

"George came to visit Fred while he was at St. Mungo's," Gaia said. "He can certainly vouch for the fact that Fred was there, can't you, George?"

"Er, well," he stalled. "Who really can tell if someone is where they are or not, you know?"

"That's right," Fred agreed eagerly. "The story of Schroedinger's cat tells us—"

"That's quite enough out of you, Fred," Ginny cut in. "George. Tell everyone the truth. Where have you been the whole time?"

In the ensuing silence, George wondered how long he could stall for time before he absolutely had to answer. All eyes were on him. He glanced at Fred, but his twin was also staring at him, as though interested to see what he would come up with.

"Uhh," said George. "Can you give me a minute?"

"A minute to do what?" Ginny asked darkly.

"To, uh, think of an alibi."

Ginny looked ready to explode.

"Hold on." Gaia slowly approached George, looking at him intently. "You're George?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah."

"I'm Fred," Fred said helpfully from the stairs.

Gaia raised a finger to point at George's neck. "Then why do you have a freckle on your neck, too?"

"He does?" Ron asked incredulously. "Let me see." He, Harry, and Hermione pushed past Fred to get a closer look.

"P-pay no attention to the man with the freckle," shouted Fred as they passed. "He is only a hologram…"

It was too late; they had all seen. Gaia, Harry, Ron, and Hermione crowded around George. Ginny, who had obviously noticed the twins' oversight beforehand, stood back, a satisfied smile on her face.

"What the hell? Why do you have a freckle, too?" Ron asked angrily. "What are you guys trying to pull?"

"N-nothing," said George. "I was out in the sun, and—"

"It's painted on," Harry pointed out.

"And then charmed to stay," Gaia added.

"So it was George here the whole time?" said Ron, confused.

"Looks that way," Harry agreed.

"No, no, come on," said Fred, who had finally descended the stairs to join the rest of them. "You're deciding all this based on a silly freckle? Are we guilty until proven innocent?"

"Well, you _are_ Fred and George," said Ron, as though that proved something.

"Or Fred and Fred," Ginny put in. "I think past experiences tell us that you two aren't to be trusted."

"But to just condemn us like that, without even giving us a chance to defend ourselves," Fred protested. "I'd like you to show me what so-called 'evidence' you have!" He finished bravely. George shook his head sadly.

"One." Ginny held up a finger. "This drawn-in freckle on George's neck."

"Like he said, he was in the sun."

"Two," Ginny continued: "Gaia's eyewitness testimony that you, Fred, were in St. Mungo's three days ago, while the twin who stayed here never left the Burrow."

Fred snorted. "What does eyewitness testimony mean nowadays, anyway? You're grasping at straws."

"I was under the impression that they still count for a lot in most courts not run by you lot," Ron said dryly.

"And three: You're Fred and George."

Ron and Harry nodded in support.

"All ridiculous," Fred scoffed. "I'd like to see one definite piece of evidence in your whole case, Gin… other than the eyewitness testimony," he added, seeing Gaia start to speak up.

"Well," Hermione said softly, "there is one thing that could prove who really was here the whole time."

"What?" asked Fred warily. He seemed to fear any evidence that Hermione would put forward as definite.

"The other day, Fred—or George—knocked over the china cabinet in the living room."

"That's right!" said Ginny. "And he cut his hand."

"I remember, too," agreed Gaia thoughtfully. "He had it bandaged when he came into St. Mungo's."

"Whoever was here at the Burrow should still have a scab on the palm of his left hand," Hermione finished.

Everyone looked at George again, who unconsciously clenched his fists.

"Well, check it out, then, Hermione," Ginny urged.

Hermione stepped forward and took his left hand. Before she turned it over, she looked into his eyes. His heart sank; her eyes were full of doubt. Then she flipped over his hand so it was palm up.

"Well," said Hermione softly, "there you have it."

"Is that proof enough for you, Fred?" Ginny asked, pointing to the obvious scab on George's palm.

"I suppose I'll accept it," he replied, downtrodden.

"I wasn't quite expecting to walk into a courtroom drama when I came here," said Gaia somewhat wearily. "I just wanted to talk to Fred."

"Well, we had to figure out who exactly _was_ Fred, didn't we?" Ron said darkly. He glared at George; he had clearly realized whom he had yelled at the previous night.

"And we're not quite done yet, Gaia," Ginny said. "I'm sorry, but we need to find out just why my two deranged brothers would do such a thing."

Gaia sighed and sat down in one of the armchairs.

Ginny eyed Fred and George. "Explain yourselves to everyone else, you guys, and none of that 'we were just joking around' bullshit."

"Watch your mouth, Gin," said Fred.

"Yeah, and what do you mean by 'everyone else'?" Ron asked.

Ginny's previously self-satisfied face turned pale in a surprising mimic of her twin brothers' as she realized she'd said too much. "Er, that is…"

"You knew, Ginny?" Hermione inquired. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"W-well, I didn't think they were going to do any harm to anyone," she replied quickly. "George insisted that it was just for kicks, to see how long it would take us to find out… That was before…"

"Before they made a mockery of me and Ron?" said Hermione, her voice twisting in her throat. "Before they made me think that… Before they made Ron say those things…"

"Yeah," agreed Ron, his arms folded over his chest. "Just what part of that was supposed to be 'for kicks'?"

Ginny looked at both of them pleadingly. "I'm so sorry, both of you. I know I should have told you, I just… I made a mistake."

Ron seemed unwilling to immediately forgive her, but grunted his acceptance. Hermione nodded in understanding.

"That was awfully easy," Fred said bitterly. "Why can't you guys let it go like that for us?"

Ginny opened her mouth to answer, but Hermione burst out: "Because you two toyed with people's feelings! Ron said such horrible things to George because of what you two did, and I…" She turned to look at George. "I just can't believe you lied to me, Fred—I mean George—I mean… Ugh!" She put a hand over her eyes in exhaustion, sadness, and huiliation.

"We never meant to—" George started, reaching out a hand.

Ron batted it away. "You really think you have the right to do that now?" he asked, putting his arm around Hermione's shoulders and pulling her to his chest.

George wished envy hadn't flared up in his stomach; jealousy and unbearable guilt combined into a horrific nausea. He hung his head. "I don't know what to say, Hermione. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm so sorry. And Ron, I'm sorry, too. Fred and I should have thought about your feelings."

"Yeah," Fred agreed softly. "I'm not exactly sure of everything that happened, but I'm sorry."

Ron glared at both of them over Hermione's head and shaking shoulders and was silent.

"Well!" Harry piped up, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Who's up for a rousing game of Quidditch? Everyone versus the twins?"

Ginny took pity on him and tugged him out of the room. "Come on, you. Let's get out of here…"

"It's kinda fun, though," Harry said. "I so rarely get to be the innocent bystander."

"Can we talk now, finally?" asked Gaia.

"Yeah, Gaia," said Fred, taking her by the hand. "We can go outside, I suppose." The two of them left through the front door.

George was left with Ron and Hermione. Neither of them spoke. He felt distinctly unwelcome and ashamed of himself: two feelings hitherto unknown to a Weasley twin.

"Again, I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Hermione, I'd like to talk some time, if you could just hear it out… when you feel that you can bear it." Seeing that she was not going to answer, he slowly ascended the stairs back to his room, leaving Hermione in Ron's arms.

- - - - -

As it happened, Hermione did not seem to be able to bear it for several days. It wasn't until two days after the debacle that she could stand to look at him, let alone speak to him. In the meantime, she had spent most of her time with Ron, her fellow victim of the twins' ill-fated plan. Ron seemed to have mostly forgiven the twins, fortunately, but he loyally kept by Hermione's side and could not resist throwing George a triumphant look every now and then that truly added insult to injury.

As for George, he spent the days refusing to enjoy himself as self-inflicted punishment. Sometimes he wondered if he should prostrate himself before Ron and Hermione and beg for forgiveness, but he was afraid they would think he was making fun of them. (After all, he had been all the other times he'd prostrated himself before them.) So he contented himself with wandering listlessly about the house in a display of utter guilt. In front of Hermione, he always put on a particularly gaunt and shameful face in the hopes that she would take pity on him and agree to talk.

This all was particularly difficult considering Fred's unnaturally buoyant mood during this time. He was so joyful, in fact, that he had finally explained to George everything that had happened between him and Gaia.

"Well, it's a bit embarrassing, now," Fred had said, scratching the back of his head. "But you have to remember, I was overcome with love such as I've never been before. I mean, she was perfect: beautiful blonde hair, curves in all the right places…"

"…And eyes like pools of really exquisite brown stuff, right?" George had asked bitterly, remembering a heart-wrenchingly similar conversation at the beginning of the disaster that was the Grand Master Plan.

"Have a bit more class, George. At least call it chocolate or something… But yes, really exquisite eyes, too. I see you've noticed. Anyhow, put yourself in my shoes, will you? I, a dashing young man, languishing in St. Mungo's, with a beautiful nurse to care for me. How could I not propose?"

George had spit his pumpkin juice all over his own shirt. "P-propose?" he had coughed. "I hope you mean you proposed that she change your bedpan."

"George, such the unromantic… No, of course I proposed marriage. In retrospect, it was a bit too soon. But you know what they say: hindsight is twenty-twenty."

"Most people wouldn't need hindsight to know that."

"Well, you can imagine her response. Shock, joy… She didn't know what to do with all of the feelings welling up inside her, so she foolishly and rather harshly declined my offer to make her the happiest woman in the world."

"Is that really how you proposed?"

"Irrelevant. The point is, she wanted to come to the Burrow and explain her answer. She told me that at this point she could not, being of sound mind and body, agree to marry yours truly. However, she truly values my friendship and hopes that we can continue to be such."

George had blinked at him. "And that's the end?"

"Well, ostensibly," Fred had replied. "But 'friends' eventually turns into 'lovers', right? She clearly thinks so. That was the impression I got."

And Fred had continued grinning so happily that George hadn't had the heart to tell him he'd been denied.

On the fifth day after the disaster, George came down earlier than usual and found Hermione sitting alone in the living room, a book in her lap.

"G-good morning," George greeted.

She looked at him suspiciously. "George, right? Or should I say Fred?"

Immediately he fell to the floor and prostrated himself before her. "Hermione, I am so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. If I could make you feel better by waiting on you hand and foot, I would do it! I'd do anything. I would dye my hair purple, I would have a tea party with the Malfoys, I would kiss the ghoul in the attic! Please, please forgive me! I'll—"

"You don't have to do all that, George," Hermione interrupted with a wave of her hand. "I can see you're genuinely repentant, and I'm not nearly so angry about it as I was before."

George looked up at her. "So you forgive me?"

"Well, I didn't say _that_, did I?"

"Oh, Hermione!" George buried his face in his hands again. "I'm so sorry! I can't believe that I could do such a thing—"

"Stop it! And get off the floor, for goodness' sake." Hermione sighed as George complied. "I can't forgive you yet because I _am_ still angry. But I've calmed down enough to be able to sit here while you explain yourself to me. So please, explain."

George spilled his guts to her. He told her everything: Fred's infatuation with her, how he was supposed to woo her in Fred's absence, how Fred had asked him to stop in advance but he couldn't, how he had betrayed Ron's trust and defamed Fred's name, how Ginny had urged him to tell everyone the truth, and how Gaia Genetrix had arrived just as he was about to begin trying to set things right. Just for good measure, he ended with a quick recap of how guilty and horrible he felt about everything. He was really hoping to drive that point home.

"And that's where we are now," he finished.

Hermione sat thoughtfully for a moment. "Well, that's quite a story," she said eventually. "But you left out everything about what happened between us."

George answered her steely gaze. "I didn't think you would want to remember all of that," he said sadly. "Aren't you and Ron…?"

Hermione's eyes softened briefly at the mention of Ron's name. "That doesn't matter right now," she said. "Tell me about what happened between us. I want to know how you could have played with my feelings the way you did."

"Let's get one thing straight," George said firmly. "I may have come here in the hopes of wooing you in Fred's place, and that was definitely wrong, I admit. But I did not play with your feelings. Or if I did, you played with mine just as much, if not more."

"_I_ did?" she said indignantly. "I did no such thing! _You're_ the one that—"

"Maybe on the surface," George agreed, "but I lived through it, too, Hermione, and you had me wrapped around your little finger much more than I had you. With your looks and your touches and your laugh and your smile and your… kisses…" He trailed off, wondering if he would ever get to kiss her again.

Hermione blushed and said nothing.

"You had me going, Hermione," he said earnestly. "I'm serious. I don't know if this will help my case any, but I really did like you. And unfortunately for me, I still do." He could not stop himself from placing his hand gently over hers.

She did not draw away. "Why is that unfortunate for you? Am I that hideous?" she asked. George saw a slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Oh, yes," he said, nodding gravely. "Absolutely vile. Morbidly obese, too."

"Don't push it," she laughed. "I haven't forgiven you quite yet, George Weasley. Just because you can make me laugh doesn't mean…"

"But at least I did make you laugh, right?" George said hopefully. "That's a step in the right direction."

"I suppose," agreed Hermione. "You know, George, I did have fun with you. It's true that I never really gave you and Fred a chance in the first place, so I might as well do it now, right? I really do value your friendship, after all. I think we could still be friends, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." He squeezed her hand.

Then he understood why Fred was so excited to get that response out of Gaia. Sure, he knew that Ron and Hermione would soon make things official. For her and George, "friends" probably would never turn into "lovers", but who knew? Maybe one of them would get drunk and stupid at a Christmas party someday, or maybe a meteor would wipe everyone else off the face of the planet, leaving only them to repopulate the Earth. In the meantime, they would be friends and eventually maybe in-laws. No matter how he looked at it, there were many more years to come of spending time with Hermione, and that was quite enough to make George happy.

_The End_

- - - - - - - - -

**Tempest:** Well, there you have it, and exactly four years since I started this story. As for the ending, I couldn't, because of my undeniable need to acknowledge canon, have George and Hermione ride off into the sunset together. But on the other hand, I couldn't leave them totally apart, so I wrote that last paragraph about getting drunk at a Christmas party or something, which could happen, right? If anyone writes a story in which George and Hermione _do_ get drunk, let me know! As for me, I've learned what a lazy ass I am, so I probably won't be attempting any more multi-chapter stories for a while. I might be able to do some oneshots, though.

Thanks to **Close2MiiHeart**, **just1love, bookworm-4-ever2012, ClassiestMokuren, abinesss, Ash, **and **KSL** for reviewing. Love you guys!

And now, because I also realized that people who read this aren't exactly looking for canon...

"So… can I have another kiss?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Come on, one for the road!"

"You cannot be serious. You pretended to be your twin brother to trick me into loving you."

"But it was me who was the good kisser all along! You said so yourself. I could not hide my abilities from you, Hermione."

"…"

"Does that ellipsis mean you're giving in?"

"It means I desperately wish I had never, ever told you that."

"Aww, Hermione, don't say that! That's what I'm planning to live on for the rest of my life: the knowledge that I could please you with my mouth!"

"My God, please tell me that you will never tell anyone that, especially not in those words."

"I won't if you give me a kiss."

"…Fine."

"That wasn't a kiss! That was a peck. On the cheek."

"You didn't specify."

"It was clear what I meant. I know you understood, Hermione Granger. You're an intelligent young woman."

"Didn't it take intelligence to find a loophole in your request?"

"…Never mind that. Just kiss me."

"No."

"Kiss me!"

"Never."

"…Well, not never _ever_."

"Yes."

"Yes to kissing me?"

"No."

"Kiss me! Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me—!"

…

"I just did it so you'd shut up."

"You can't hide your feelings from me, Hermione. I know what I felt. That was love."

"A love of peace and quiet… Aren't you supposed to be groveling at my feet, by the way?"

"Are you into that, Hermione? S&M? I tie you up, you tie me up? Eating off each other? Roleplay?"

"I can shut you up in other ways, too, you know."

"Oh, like a ball gag?"

_Smack!_

"...Kiss it and make it better?"

"Never."


End file.
